Arrows of Desire: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 3

by Lynne Connolly

  “You will have to tell me the story of our meeting.”

  Hurt crossed her mind. This close he felt it and saw it reflected in her eyes. She had lovely eyes, a clear blue-green, the colour of the sea on a fine day. He frowned. That description hit a chord in him, but he couldn’t remember anything.

  “I’m sorry.” He gentled his tones. “I would do anything to remember.”

  “It must be confusing.”

  The scent of lavender interrupted him, and he moved away. He hadn’t realised he’d grown so close to her. How could that have happened? They were in a public place; they should not demonstrate any intimacy. Especially intimacy they didn’t have, although it came so naturally.

  “Lovebirds, I do declare! May I venture to ask how long you’ve been reconciled?”

  Damn, one of the biggest gossips in London was standing before them, handkerchief and cane at the ready. Lord Corby had little to do except squander his considerable fortune and let everyone know his opinion about everything under the sun.

  Like Lady Forrest, he wore full maquillage, but better applied. The white cream covered his face evenly and disappeared under the hard edges of his wig. It was impossible to guess what he was like under all that artifice, which, after all, was the point. He wore heels, so he’d even altered his height. The fashionable striving for artifice, to alter one’s appearance had reached its apogee with Lord Corby.

  “May I introduce you to Lord Corby, my dear?” While he performed the introduction and bows and curtseys were exchanged, Edmund determined on his path. The only one he had, really. This was acknowledging her as his wife. To tell the truth, he couldn’t be sorry.

  He had given up a woman he liked for one who intrigued him. He had a problem to face that was bigger than a marriage certificate—the wrath of Susanna’s guardian. Venus was capricious and demanding.

  Enough for now that he supported Portia. Lord Corby was chattering. “We had no idea that you had returned from your travels wed, sir. And to tell you the truth, you have set society its ears by your little contretemps. I’m the only person bold enough to approach you, so if you please, could you enlighten me? Then I shall take the burden of informing those gossips on your behalf. Just think how weary it would be to tell the same story repeatedly!”

  While Edmund was hastily concocting a story that would serve, Portia took the matter up herself. “Not abroad, sir, but here in England. Kentmere had returned from abroad and I believe he was planning to go to Scotland to his estates, but he bethought himself to visit an old family friend first. My father, Sir Mortimer Seaton, in fact. Our house is close to Dover, on the coast, so the diversion was not a great one.”

  “Except it was.” Edmund took her hand. “One look at my lady and I was lost.” He smiled at her, and her fingers trembled. “Was it not so, my dear? I had no idea my mama had decided to come to London early, otherwise I would have hurried to her side. But I fear then I would not have met my Portia.”

  “You wanted her, so you took her.”

  The corners of Portia’s mouth tightened. “Indeed, sir. I also took him. To be my wedded husband. That was before he returned to London and what he envisioned as the bearing of good news took a tragic turn on the death of his mother. Then he forgot me, or so I thought, so I hurried to remind him of his poor wife.”

  “Indeed. A strange affair, that.” Lord Corby dealt Edmund a look of sorrow. “I was so sorry to hear about your dear mama. What a credit to society she was.” He spread a tiny fan and wafted it vigorously before his face, as if to demonstrate how overcome he was. To Edmund’s knowledge, his mother and his lordship had shared only one thing—a mutual dislike of each other.

  “Tragic indeed,” Edmund said. “My sister has gone into the country to recover from the shock. If she didn’t have a most devoted husband, I would have accompanied her. However, I must also introduce my wife to society. She has, as she said, lived a sheltered existence before now.”

  A notion occurred to him, a way to take some of the focus away from Portia. “Her father, Sir Mortimer Seaton, has two other daughters and is prodigious rich. He hails from Kent, near to Dover, in a most salubrious situation.”

  At the magic word—“rich”—Lord Corby’s features animated brightly, and this time he smiled with genuine pleasure. Two new heiresses was news indeed. Edmund had every reason to suppose that his lordship would take horse to Dover in the morning. And good riddance.

  “My papa is in London,” Portia said, dashing Edmund’s schemes. “He arrived today. My mother and my sisters are shortly to join him. They will stay at the Pantheon Club.”

  “And is that not strange?”

  Another voice broke into the conversation, a female one. “I consider it scandalous. My dear, does your father know that the Italian count is allowing both men and women into the club he is sponsoring?”

  “Until lately I stayed there,” Portia said. She glanced at Edmund and flushed. “I displeased my husband by following him to London, but I could not abide the country without him. When I arrived, he flew into a rage, so I went to stay at the Pantheon Club. Lord d’Argento is an old friend.” That was news to Edmund. “I’ve seen the inside of the club and I’m satisfied all the proprieties will be adhered to. Is it not pleasant for a lady to have somewhere she may meet her friends?” Her courage melted him. She was supporting her friends, and he admired her enormously for that.

  “I cannot conceive why she should not use her own drawing room.” The lady sniffed.

  Edmund introduced them. Lady Gillchrist stood her ground. “I will not set foot in such a shocking establishment and neither will any of my family.” Lady Gillchrist was blessed with an extensive family network, but not all would obey her, Edmund surmised. A stickler, but not a leader of society, however much she wanted to be. In his short time in London, Edmund had seen her in every gathering he attended and heard reports about her at others, everywhere giving her opinion. His wife was standing up to her and winning. She warmed him deep down.

  It would help him if the club were a success. His own differences with d’Argento aside, a place where immortals could meet and recognise each other was long overdue. Only the disaster of thirty years before had made them wary of gathering together. D’Argento’s clever notion of allowing mortals into parts of the building would prevent anyone set on destroying immortals alone. The most ruthless of Titans would not balk at the prospect, but they must guard against that. Situating it opposite the Palace of St. James was a masterstroke too. An attack on the club could be constituted as an attack on the palace.

  “I think it is refreshing,” Lord Corby said, totally unexpectedly. Perhaps he would come in useful after all. “I will investigate tomorrow, I believe. Will they indulge in cards?”

  “It’s a perfectly respectable pastime,” Edmund said innocently. “I cannot see why they should not.”

  An innocent pastime in which fortunes changed hands in moments. He wouldn’t mention that now. “Come, my dear. I would like to take you to Lady Stevens’s before the night is over.”

  They left Lord Corby and Lady Gillchrist avidly gossiping. As did others. A few openly stared at them. Edmund chose to introduce Portia, but they didn’t linger anywhere. He wanted her home, wanted her to himself. So he could talk to her, he amended.

  The way she attracted him infuriated him because he couldn’t help himself or stop it. He’d spent nights thinking about her, what she’d feel like in his arms and even in his bed.

  Well, she had declared she was his wife. Time to discover what that meant.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When they arrived back at Edmund’s house, he found the hall in a state of turmoil, and his butler frantically running around giving orders. He stepped around a large travelling trunk. “Yours?”

  With a happy smile that delighted him, Portia nodded. “I went shopping. I had precious little else to do.”

&nb
sp; “Except help d’Argento set up a new club and set the gossips’ ears flapping. You have them rushing around like hens in a thunderstorm.”

  She waved her hand airily. “He had that under control. He merely needed me to add a little something. Approval.”

  “Patronage,” he corrected her. “You’ll have many people who will want that from you.”

  In a sudden movement, he knelt at her feet. “I surrender. I cannot hold back. I’ve been watching what you did and I have nothing but admiration for you. You have declared yourself as my duchess and dared me to deny it. I will not.” He looked up and met her gaze. “If you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. At that moment he knew he’d made the right choice. This woman deserved respect and care, and he could give it. He desired her, but he also respected what she’d done and had not a little humour in watching the way she’d set London on its ears in the past two days.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  He got to his feet. Disdaining the formality of offering his arm, he held out his hand. Relief filled him when she took it.

  When her hand slipped into his, he had her. Tugging her to the stairs he ascended them, keeping the pace to her level, though he would rather have swept her into his arms and carried her up. Now he’d made his decision and received hers, he couldn’t wait. The way her face lit up in a glorious smile made his body tingle. His cock stirred. Half hard since they’d left the ball, it was quickly completing its mission.

  His body was telling him what to do.

  Outside his room, he paused and drew her close, but not close enough for more than their hands to touch. “Portia, if you come with me into my room, I’m going to make love to you.”

  Her smile broadened. “I know.”

  “After that, I won’t give you up. You will be mine, do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course. I want this.” He saw no doubt on her face, felt none in her mind. “I fought for this.”

  “You humble me. You had faith in me, didn’t you?”

  She shook her head. “I was true to what I believed and wanted. I could not speak for you, only for myself.”

  He gazed at her, his mind full of questions. She released one of his hands and cupped his cheek. “I never stopped wanting you. You didn’t know who I was, so in a way the journey was harder for you. And we haven’t finished, have we?”

  When he shook his head, his chin rubbed against her palm. The movement created more intimacy. He’d never been this close to anyone, even when he’d shared his body with them. But that was all he’d shared, although he hadn’t realised it until this moment. He was prepared to share much more with her, though he didn’t know how to do it.

  “This is new to me. Me, Edmund, not Eros.”

  She stared at him. This close he noted the darker ring around her iris, a pure blue that enhanced the greenish-blue of the main part. He’d never seen eyes that colour before. They were beautiful.

  When he kissed her, he was smiling. No other reason. He brushed kisses across her lips and her cheeks, scattering them like snowflakes unexpectedly coming out of a clear sky. “Will you come with me?” His heart beat stronger, pounding against his ribs. Her answer meant so much to him.

  “Yes.”

  That was all he needed. Fumbling for the door handle, he managed to get it open and manoeuvred them inside without releasing her. He was forgetting everything—his style, his technique. Before now he’d considered it a matter of pride to be a polished, considerate lover, one his partners would never forget. He owed it to his deity, the god who occupied him and had given him so much. Plus, he enjoyed it, liked being talked about as a lover to remember.

  Nothing mattered now. This was a new world for him, and he doubted he’d be the same man when it was done. If it ever concluded.

  He was a god. He should trust in his godhead, in the power of love. Love didn’t need memory or rationality to survive. It just existed. If he had loved her once, then that love would remain in him still. It was just a matter of stopping his mind for long enough and letting his soul and heart through.

  He couldn’t get enough of staring into her eyes. Except that he wanted another taste of those plump, red lips.

  Bending his head, he kissed her. He licked her lips, traced them with the tip of his tongue, avariciously delving between when she opened her mouth on a gasp.

  So sweet, he could lose himself in her, just kissing. He deepened the kisses, not because he thought it was time but because he needed to. She responded, moaning, the sound reverberating around his mouth before he swallowed it and claimed it.

  He had to separate them in order to find the bed.

  As he started to think again, his libido decreased, enough for him to get them both as far as the bed. He leaned her against it, and as she reached for him he took her mouth again, greedy for more. His hair tumbled around his face when she pushed her fingers into it. She must have pulled out the narrow ribbon. His hair caressed his cheeks, but not as softly as her hand when she traced a line from his mouth to his ears. She pinched his earlobe and that small shot of pain went straight to his groin. He dragged his mouth away from hers and gazed into her lust-drugged eyes. The pupils were large, black, fathoms deep.

  Spreading kisses over her face and down her throat, he marked when she responded most, the pulse at the base of her throat. He sucked gently on it, her sighs and moans sending shivering music along his spine. Further down he nudged the lace at her bosom aside and licked into her cleavage, marking the different tastes. He didn’t need to memorise them because he intended to revisit all those places.

  This was time for discovery and exploration. His wife was a new country, territory he had yet to map. In a way he knew her, and this was a rediscovery, but one his mind could not remember, only his body.

  He’d done all this before. What must she think? Was he the same as before?

  Whatever he was doing, she seemed to enjoy it. She touched him, spreading her hands over his chest, undoing the tiny buttons of his waistcoat. Then she dragged his shirt out of his breeches, pushing it roughly aside to touch his bare skin.

  Edmund shuddered. “You do that so well.”

  No more. He couldn’t wait. As frantically as she’d dragged his garments aside, he attacked her now. Her bodice was hooked and laced, and he had her gown, stomacher and stays before he would reach the bounty of her breasts. He didn’t have the patience to wait.

  When he tugged her skirts up, he was reminded how many yards of fabric went into it. Acres of the damned stuff, but eventually he reached her silk-clad ankles and slid his hand up until he reached flesh, just above her knee. When he lifted her skirts, the aroma of her arousal, fresh and sweet, drifted to him, driving him even more crazy.

  As demented as if Bacchus had struck him once more, scattering his senses.

  Again he grasped for what he’d lost and it drifted away. This time he let it go, and the immediate present came back to him. He wanted her so badly nothing else mattered.

  Sliding his hand up her leg, he discovered the soft hair at the juncture of her legs and the slick wetness within. Her clitoris was plump, the little point of hardness jerking at his touch. She winced and bit her lower lip. Edmund propped himself on the bed beside her waist and continued to touch her with his other hand.

  “Let me,” he murmured, dropping another kiss on her tempting lips. “It feels so good, doesn’t it? I love that beautiful silkiness. You’re perfect.” She was, exactly what he needed. “Tell me, sweetheart. Open your mind, just a little. Talk to me.”

  Sometimes he could sense a mood, especially when it was so close to his. This time her heated arousal swept into his head, adding to his own. He gave her what he could in return.

  Pushing further down, he found her entrance and breached it. Her passage closed around his finger, grasping it. At the thought of what that
would do to his cock, he groaned again. So good. I need you now.

  No more waiting. This was the time. Uncharacteristically he fumbled at the buttons on the fall of his breeches. Three one side, three the other. It took an impossible time. Far too long. Eventually his shaft fell, heavy and hot, into his hand, the tip already wet with the essence of his arousal.

  He pushed her skirts to her waist, crushed her hoops under his body when he leaned over her and brought his cock to her wet cleft. He had to pull his hand away so he could lean over her, but he was lodged inside her now. He stared into her eyes, which were glazed with need as he pushed into her body.

  He didn’t stop until he’d breached her completely. Then he stopped, for fear he’d commit the ultimate transgression and come before he’d thrust even once into her. He longed to feel her tight clasp around him as she came, and he needed a moment for that.

  “You undo me,” he told her.

  Her shaky laugh made him smile. “I would have done if you’d let me. Edmund…?”

  Uncertainty entered her gaze, tiny lines appearing around her eyes. No, he wouldn’t allow that. “Come with me, Portia. Stop thinking. Nothing matters but this.” He found enough strength to withdraw and push.

  She cried out and arched her back, her breasts almost coming out of her tightly laced bodice. The swells were so lovely, tempting in their softness. He bent and kissed them, before finding that pulse at her throat again and working his way back to her mouth. She responded beautifully, meeting his drives with forward impulses of her own. Their flesh met at their groins, and their thighs collided, heat and wetness aiding their progress to mutual satisfaction.

  Edmund couldn’t have stopped now if Portia had held a gun to his head. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, repeating what they were doing below, desperate to get as close to her as possible. He needed her so much. Reason fled, leaving the basic instincts to take her and make her his.