Seducing Mr. Knightly

by Maya Rodale

  Would he choose her, or belonging?

  “Of course I considered that! When I was stranded on that branch and your windowsill, I thought about it extensively. But I wouldn’t have been there if Julianna and Eliza had not assured me it would be perfectly fine.”

  “Oh, those two. Those two are trouble. And the breeches,” Knightly said, taking a long, rich look at her legs clad in the fitted kerseymere breeches that clung to her hips and thighs in such a sinful way.

  He should not look.

  He could barely wrench his gaze away. God, he wanted to strip them off her, to reveal acres of pale skin, bathed in moonlight.

  “I’m not sure if your breeches show sense, given your tree climbing escapades or even more madness. What if someone had seen you?” he asked. In the back of his mind he thought that none of this really mattered—she was safe, no one had seen her. But something momentous was going to happen. He and Annabelle were going to make love. There was no avoiding it, really. It had been inevitable, he supposed. He wanted to know her, intimately, more than he’d ever wanted anything.

  Anything.

  And he needed a moment to process that everything was about to change.

  “Miss Overlooked Swift, remember? Spinster Aunt from Bloomsbury! So what if I was spotted? What do I have to lose?” There was a note of anguish in her voice, but defiance in her stance. “No one ever sees me, Knightly. Least of all you. Which is why I have to do utterly mad and dangerous things to get attention. And now here I am and my intentions are clear. What do you have to say about that?”

  He had seen her—or started to, these past few weeks. He’d been driven to distraction by her—but just these past few days. He thought of all the years they met every week when she sighed when he walked into the room, and he had thought nothing of it. Never even noticed.

  Of course she had to climb a tree and knock on his bedroom window to get his damned attention. She had risked her life and heart for him.

  “I am the Nodcock,” he said. Again.

  “I’m dreadfully sorry about the name,” she said, smiling sheepishly.

  “I shan’t forgive you for that,” he said sharply. Good God, if anyone knew he’d never live it down.

  “I wouldn’t either,” she replied with a shrug. But they both knew her heart was so damn big and loving she would forgive almost anyone anything. Even a bastard like him.

  “I suspected as much,” Knightly added. “I was thrown off by Owens and Marsden. And I suppose I didn’t want to see. But I suspected.”

  “And yet you let me take it this far?” she asked, horrified. Understandably so.

  “Last week you were only fainting in my arms, Annabelle. And now you’re risking life and limb to break into my bedchamber in the middle of the night? How was I supposed to know you would go to such lengths?”

  If he had seen this coming . . . If he had known that she would resort to this . . . What would he have done? He groaned when his brain supplied the idiotic suggestion of lining the ground with feather mattresses in case she fell.

  The truth was, he didn’t know what he would have done. The sight of Annabelle in breeches and a thin white linen shirt didn’t exactly facilitate rational thought either.

  “You let me throw myself at you when you knew!” And then Annabelle folded her arms across her chest and stomped her foot. Bloody adorable.

  “Suspected,” he clarified. “I suspected but I was not certain. I did not have the facts. And I operate on facts.”

  “You suggested I give up the ruse,” Annabelle pointed out, and it sounded like an accusation. It sounded like he had lured her here. She stepped closer to him. He swallowed, hard. “You asked if I wanted satisfaction,” she whispered.

  “Be careful what you ask for, Annabelle,” he warned.

  She took another step in his direction. If she came any closer, he could not be held responsible. A man could only endure so much temptation. As it was, his self-restraint was already straining under the pressure.

  He wanted to claim her mouth, sink his fingers in her hair, strip off those breeches. He wanted to feel her skin, hot and bare, underneath his. He wanted to see if one of Annabelle’s infamous blushes went beyond her cheeks. He wanted to bury himself inside her. He wanted to know her, possess her, make love to her so thoroughly it would be impossible to move.

  “Well, I have given up the ruse,” Annabelle said plainly.

  There were reasons, good reasons, why all those things he wanted should not happen. He could not think of one now. Not one.

  “You want satisfaction, Annabelle?” He looked down at her face tilted up to his. Her eyes were large, searching. Her lips were plump, red, and slightly parted.

  “I think so,” she replied, revealing that devastating innocence of hers. She was offering that to him, along with her trust and her faith. That was why Annabelle scared him, and why he’d been reluctant to see the truth.

  With Annabelle, it would matter.

  With Annabelle, there would be no turning back. There would be no marriage in the aristocracy, there would be no parity with the New Earl. He still wanted these things. But in this moment he wanted Annabelle more.

  When Knightly made a decision, it was swift and sure and he followed through without looking back. On the spot, in the moment, he chose Annabelle.

  His life’s ambition, tossed out the window in exchange for the chance to lose himself in her kiss, her touch, her sighs. That’s how much he wanted her.

  “Oh, you do want satisfaction, Annabelle, you do,” he promised. His voice was rough. “I’ll show you.”

  He did not start with a kiss. She had kept him in suspense, wanting, waiting, and teasing for weeks. Tonight she would suffer the same . . . though he was damn sure she was going to revel in every second of it. He’d make sure of that.

  Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, and he began by removing the hairpins holding those curls back. A mass of thick blond curls tumbled down around her shoulders. Annabelle, undone.

  His breath hitched. He had known Annabelle was pretty. But with her hair down she was beautiful. Like a goddess. Like it was impossible that he should not have noticed her all these years . . .

  Well, he was going to discover her now. He was going to give her years worth of attention, in one night.

  She gazed up at him. It pulled hard at his heart. No one had ever looked at him like that. She was nervous, and she was putting herself in his care. She had literally gone out on a limb for him when no one else ever had. And she stood before him, waiting . . .

  Then Annabelle licked her lip; a nervous gesture that he found unbelievably erotic. She would stay the night and, he thought wickedly, she would like it.

  “Annabelle,” he said, clasping her cheeks in his palms. There were all these things he should say. All these feelings he didn’t have the words for. The woman left him speechless and nearly breathless. “Annabelle.”

  She tasted like sweetness and trouble. A marvelous combination. She responded hesitantly at first and then he could feel her reservations and nerves calm and fade. He didn’t know he could do that with a kiss. Was he drunk on that power? Or just drunk on Annabelle?

  They kissed in the moonlight, until he could stand it no longer—a minute, maybe two. He was desperate to know her. How soft was her skin? How did she sound when he pleasured her? How did she taste, everywhere? How did it feel to be inside her?

  Knightly needed to know. Knightly sought answers.

  One could not make proper love to a woman while she was dressed as a boy. He tugged at the shirt, pulling it from her breeches and above her head. Buttons seemed to have gone flying; he heard them skittering across the floor.

  Annabelle folded her arms over her chest.

  “Oh no, my dear Annabelle,” he murmured. “I need to see you.”

  Truly, he needed to. Like he needed a
ir. He needed to know how the real vision of Annabelle compared to the one he had conjured up, late at night when he was alone. He knew this would far surpass anything he’d imagined.

  Yet in the far recesses of his mind, Knightly was aware that this was likely her first time. She’d be shy and uncertain and would need an extra gentle touch.

  To even things out, he took off his own shirt, dropping it carelessly on the floor.

  Her eyes widened as her gaze roamed over his naked chest. Perhaps that didn’t put her at ease. Knightly couldn’t help it; he grinned. Then he tugged her closer and kissed her some more. Her arms stole around him, tentatively to start.

  Slow, he reminded himself, slow. He wanted this to be perfect for her. And her hesitant touch set him on fire. Something about being where no man had been before. If he did one thing in his life, it would be to make sure that this moment had been worth waiting for, for her.

  When he could take it no longer, he guided Annabelle to the bed; he needed to feel her utterly naked, beneath him. He needed to make love to her. Needed to like he’d been blind, and now had the gift of sight and never wanted to close his eyes again.

  WHEN Annabelle had thought about this night, in all honesty, this was the part she had thought about most of all. Never mind that it was her first time and her knowledge was limited to the occasionally illuminating conversations of her fellow Writing Girls. She knew what was supposed to happen. She had wondered what it’d be like.

  She hadn’t known. Dear Lord, she hadn’t known.

  To feel this close to someone and to feel this wanted was to really know, for a moment, how cold and lonely she had been. Then Knightly proceeded to chase that feeling away every time he uttered her name in a husky voice, looked at her with undisguised craving. That was to say nothing of his kiss, which set her body and soul afire, and his touch, which stoked that fire.

  Knightly lead her to his bed and together they tumbled down to the feather mattress. His bare skin was hot against her bare skin. She loved it. Loved the possessive feeling of his weight on hers. His fingers threaded through her own. It was the sweetest thing that he should still hold her hand in a moment like this when they were naked and tangled together. She didn’t know quite where she ended and he began.

  “I can feel you smiling as we kiss,” he murmured, and she laughed softly. Knightly’s mouth nibbled oh so gently on her earlobe and it sent shivers down her spine.

  “I wanted . . .” she whispered, but then gave up. She meant to tell him how she had wanted him, wanted this . . . But Knightly’s palm closed over her breast, gently caressing and holding. He shifted his weight and her protest became a gasp of shock and then of pleasure when his mouth closed around the dusky, sensitive peak.

  Knightly did the same on the other side. Annabelle gasped, and Annabelle sighed, and Annabelle took the lesson she had learned from practicing fainting and just let go. Those sighs turned into murmurs of pleasure and she writhed beneath him. It was exquisite what he did to her with his mouth . . . leaving a trail of hot, scorching kisses from her breasts down to her belly, across to the indentation of her waist and lower still. The stubble on his cheeks was a wicked contrast to the softness of her own skin.

  And then Knightly kissed her there. This she had certainly never imagined . . . didn’t even know . . . He licked the bud of her sex, slowly back and forth at first. Breathing suddenly became impossible. And then slow leisurely circles around and around as a particular heat intensified, and with it a feeling of increasing pressure.

  Annabelle gripped the bedsheets in her palms. She couldn’t breathe. She felt like she was on fire. Like she might explode. The pleasure was so deep, so intense, so overwhelming, she simply couldn’t fight it. So she didn’t. She let go, cried out from the joyful release and surrendered.

  She had risked her life for this. Risked rejection and mortification at the hands of the man she loved more than anything. It had been worth the risk. So very absolutely worth it.

  “Annabelle,” Knightly said, his voice rough with desire. “I want you.”

  She fixed her gaze upon Knightly. His dark hair fell rakishly down before his blue, blue eyes. How she had ached to hear those words from his lips. She had longed to see him thus: desperate for her.

  She grinned wickedly—surely she now deserved to grin wickedly—and kissed him. It was now his turn to sigh.

  “Annabelle, I need you,” he murmured. She felt his arousal, warm and hard, pressing at the entrance between her legs. She arched her back, tilted her hips, intrigued by the sensation of it. Knightly groaned, then claimed her mouth for another kiss. She felt the heat surging again. Felt the sparks. Felt like she wanted more.

  “Tell me to stop,” he gasped. She wrapped her arms around him, entwined her legs with his. She couldn’t get close enough to him. There had to be more. They had to be closer. She wanted more.

  “I want to be yours,” she whispered. “I want you.”

  When Annabelle whispered those words, there was no going back. Even if Knightly had wanted to stop, not even the devil and all the angels in heaven could make him. He entered her, slowly, because he didn’t want to hurt her and because he did not want to miss a second of this. This one moment, this once.

  She was warm and wet and ready for him. He pushed ahead until he was fully inside of her. Until there was no going back. Until he and Annabelle, at long last, were one.

  “Oh, God, Annabelle,” he rasped, and then he thrust gently. She gasped with pleasure. He thrust again, harder, and she moaned with desire. And then again and again. He lost himself in the rhythm, in the scent of her and the sound of her soft cries of pleasure. Lost himself fully in the taste of her skin and surrendered to the overwhelming need to love her completely, to possess her entirely. He cried out, reaching his climax. She did too. He heard her cries of pleasure and felt her contract around him. He lost himself in this moment in which he noticed Annabelle, all of her.

  Chapter 36

  The Morning After

  PARLIAMENTARY INTELLIGENCE

  There are rumors that Lord Marsden’s Inquiry is about to get worse—much worse.

  The London Weekly

  ANNABELLE awoke in Knightly’s embrace. He held her close and her head rested on his bare chest. She heard his heartbeat, strong and steady. She held him, too, with one of her arms flung over his chest as if to say mine.

  She thought she might have been having an extremely vivid dream in which she could experience the scent of him and the glorious sensation of his bare skin against her bare skin. But it was real.

  This was real.

  The world must have altered its course sometime in the night. Perhaps it started spinning in the other direction or started to orbit the moon instead of the sun. The world as Annabelle had known it ceased to exist.

  Good riddance, she thought.

  And to this wonderful new world, she practically purred good morning.

  She didn’t often feel contentment. Usually she woke up slightly disappointed to open her eyes to her attic bedroom and to the chores and drudgery of the day that awaited her. But she summoned her hope and sunny disposition and dared to dream perhaps that day would be different.

  The word, contentment, now had a new definition, and it was Knightly’s arms around her. It was this feeling of nothing between them, not even so much as a chemise or a bedsheet.

  Or perhaps, Annabelle thought with a smile as she happily drifted from deep sleep to fully awake, perhaps this was joy. To waken in the arms of the man you loved. What could possibly be better than that?

  Hmm . . . She smiled bashfully and blushed. They had made love. She’d had no idea. None at all. He’d teased and seduced New Annabelle to heights Old Annabelle never could have imagined.

  Annabelle sighed, and this time it was a sigh of absolute and utter pleasure.

  “Good morning,” a man’s voice gr
eeted her. That never happened in her old world. And it was Knightly’s voice, still rough from sleep.

  “Good morning,” she replied. It was a good morning indeed. She stretched and yawned and nestled closer to him. She loved him, and they had made love. Her heart had always belonged to him, and now the rest of her did, too.

  “You are trouble, Annabelle,” he said, turning on his side to gaze down at her. He brushed her hair out of her eyes, away from her face. Her hair was surely in a state. But she didn’t care, not when he was looking at her like that.

  “No one’s ever said that to me before,” she replied. “I like it. I probably shouldn’t but I do.”

  “Good,” he practically growled. But he grinned, too, and claimed her mouth for another kiss. He clasped her breast and she arched her back, pressing herself closer to him, to encourage him to that again, and more.

  “You are absolutely trouble,” he murmured as he feathered kisses along her neck. “For the first time in history, I will be late to the office.”

  “At least you don’t have to worry about losing your position,” Annabelle said, and wrapped her arms around him and pulled him even closer.

  “And I have a very good reason for being late,” he murmured as he rolled atop her. She parted her legs and felt him straining against her, ready. Oh so ready.

  They made love again, trading in the cool glow from the moon for the softness of morning light.

  “Annabelle,” he whispered, holding her close after they had both cried out in pleasure and lay for a while in each other’s arms. “Oh Annabelle.”

  It was inevitable that reality would intrude. It took the precise form of Knightly’s valet, who discreetly entered the bedchamber with a tray of steaming black coffee and a thick stack of newspapers, which he set down on the bedside table before disappearing into what must have been the closet. Not once did he seem to register Annabelle’s presence in his master’s bed. Naked. Covered only by a bedsheet.