Emma was standing by the little pool, where a fountain in the form of a stone cherub spouted a sparkling stream of water in the moonlight. She was facing away from him, half in deep shadow, and she did not turn as he approached. He could see her gown, a pale silver shimmer in the moonlight.
Dev took two strides toward her, reached out and with a fervor borne of desperation rather than eagerness, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
As soon as he touched her he knew with a rush of profound relief that it would be all right. She made a soft sound of shock deep in her throat as his lips took hers but within a second she was melting into his arms and she was hot and wanton and willing, and the light burst in his mind, drawing pleasure in its wake. He closed his eyes, twisting his hands in her hair—such soft, silken strands beneath his fingers—and held her still whilst he plundered her mouth with his own, tangling his tongue with hers, delving deep, ravishing her.
He moved his lips to the line of her neck and the sweet, vulnerable hollow of her throat. She tasted divine, of fresh air and cool summer skin, and she smelled of thyme and roses. The lust kicked him in the stomach with such force he groaned. How could he not have wanted her? She was so pliant and responsive in his arms.
Dev drew back reluctantly to take a breath and in that moment the moon peeked out from behind the rising bank of cloud and the light fell full on her face.
Susanna.
This was Susanna, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, her lashes a dark smudge against the shadow of her cheek, her lips parted, swollen and full from his kisses. The shock splintered Dev’s mind followed by another jolt of lust so wicked and powerful that it stole his breath.
Afterward he was not sure how long he had hesitated for; less than a second, probably.
He knew exactly what he should have done. He was in the wrong garden and he should have apologized and walked away. That was what any gentleman would do. But he was a rake facing overwhelming temptation. He wanted Susanna—he had wanted her from the moment she stepped back into his life—and she was here, and she was willing in his arms, and he was going to take her. His desire for her was so acute it felt like physical pain.
“Devlin?” Susanna’s voice was a whisper. She sounded confused and adrift, utterly seduced by his kisses. “What—”
Dev kissed her again, softly, persuasively, mastering the need that drove him. He felt Susanna’s body melt into acquiescence, felt her sigh against his lips as she returned the kiss. He pulled her down onto the stone bench in the shadow of the trees. He had meant to do this in the summerhouse, he remembered hazily, where no doubt there were soft cushions to lie upon and walls to guard their privacy from prying eyes. Except that here in the gardens it was hot and scented and he wanted Susanna here, now, on the damp grass with the moonlight dancing on the water and the wind in the trees and the night air caressing their skin.
He slid the gown from her shoulders—she was wearing a loose confection of the sheerest, silkiest gauze and no stays—and again she gasped as the air touched her nakedness. He could feel the way her skin puckered, her nipple tight and hard against his palm and then against his lips as he bent his head to take her in his mouth. He sucked; she cried out, a muted sound that made the desire roar through him. Her gown slid down to free her breasts completely. She looked exquisite in the dappled shade, her nakedness fully exposed to his gaze, her pale skin etched in silver, her nipples dark and pointing, begging for his touch as she arched toward him. He took her in his mouth again, cupping her breast, sliding his tongue over the taut peak in a caress that had her begging for more, her words soft and broken.
He ran a hand under those gauzy skirts—light, delicious, smooth—and up her leg to the ribbon at the top of her stockings. The skin of her inner thigh was even more soft and delicious than the silken skirts that fell back to uncover her to his touch. He could feel the heat of her and smell the scent of feminine arousal. He was burning up now with the need to possess her but again he mastered his impatience.
His knuckles grazed the core of her and the contact wrenched a groan from her throat.
“Oh, please …” She was a supplicant, utterly his to command, pleading for release. He would not give her what she craved. Not yet.
He kissed her, long and deep, and her lips clung to his eagerly, opening beneath him, offering everything, shockingly responsive. He remembered this passion in her and his heart surged to have found it again. He pressed openmouthed kisses against her breasts, running his tongue up to the peak in long, hot strokes until her whole body rose under the domination of his touch. He dropped his lips to her belly, pushing aside the gown, impatient now to explore every plane and curve.
She tasted impossibly sweet and silken. He flicked his tongue into her navel and felt her shiver. His fingers returned to the moist core of her, seeking, finding. Her thighs opened to him. He pressed down gently on the hot, hard little nub and she cried out as she came immediately. Her body tensed, racked by spasm after spasm in utter obedience to his touch, powerless to resist the seduction.
“Now …” Did he speak or did she? He picked her up and carried her to the summerhouse where he stripped the gauzy skirts from her and laid her down on the wide chaise. He was aware now of nothing but the need to have her. It clawed at him with the fiercest desire he had ever experienced. He had to be inside her, to possess her completely. In a frenzy of impatience now he tore open his pantaloons and followed her down onto the chaise, pushing apart her thighs as wide as he could. He felt her close about him, impossibly tight, the pressure enough to make his head spin and his control falter on the edge.
“Gently, sweetheart …” He eased back and felt her body give to accommodate his more deeply. He pressed a kiss to her trembling lips, felt her upper body lift and her nipples brush his chest. One thrust, two; long, slow strokes, exerting absolute control over his desires, feelings himself sliding toward the edge again and reining in his own needs yet again … He had not known that he possessed such patience when every instinct prompted him to plunder her body with ruthless intensity. Yet still he kept the pace slow, deepening the strokes now, hearing her gasp and feeling her move with him.
She ran her hands down his back and over his buttocks, pulling him into her more deeply and he was lost. She came again, her body clasping his. The light exploded in his head. Every muscle tensed. He felt the world slipping and sliding away from him in a whirlwind of sensation, splintering into the brightest and most dazzling pleasure. And behind the pleasure was something more profound; a lightness that flooded his whole being, a deep sense of connection, a feeling of peace that should have scared him witless but instead felt honest and true, a measure of pure, raw passion, as though he had regained the most valuable thing he had ever lost. He was still breathing as hard as if he had been in combat. His body felt supremely content and his mind was hovering on the edges of satisfied exhaustion. Then he felt Susanna move. She sat up and the panic he felt in her movements and the raw shock in her voice broke his state of bliss splintered into a thousand pieces.
“Devlin!”
She sounded horrified, as though she had only just come to a realization of what they had done. She rolled away from him, scrambled off the chaise, grabbed her gown and started to try to dress herself again. The slippery gauze slithered and slid through her hands. Dev heard her swear fiercely under her breath. He could see her slender fingers trembling in the moonlight as she tried to fasten the ribbons and he was shot through with regret and a strange tenderness. He stood up, took a step toward her and saw her recoil.
“Let me help you,” he said.
The minute he touched her she froze, like a wary creature measuring the danger. Her hair, that beautiful silky mass he had buried his hands in, was tumbled in wild profusion about her shoulders. He brushed it back from her face and felt her shiver. He wanted to draw her into his arms and hold her. The strength of the impulse shook him. But there was something in her that forbade it; he sensed her complete withdrawal f
rom him and saw the dignity with which she belatedly tried to cloak herself.
She was frowning, at a loss. “I don’t know …” Her voice sounded as hesitant as he had ever heard it.
“You don’t know what you were doing?” he supplied. It was a common enough excuse from a woman who had allowed herself to get carried away and then wanted to pretend it was all a mistake. He’d heard it often enough from bored society wives and widows who wanted some fun but did not want to admit it openly.
“I can throw some light on that,” he said pleasantly. “You were making love with me.”
He saw the flash of irritation in her eyes. “I realize that,” she said sharply. The edge went from her voice as quickly as it had come. “I don’t know what happened …” she said. She sounded bewildered. “I don’t understand how it happened.”
“It happened because we wanted it to happen,” Dev said. He had never seen the need to indulge in any pretense over sex. It had always been a pleasurable pastime to him but no more. Except that this time it had felt different, more profound, more important somehow. But that was nonsense. The simple truth was that he had wanted Susanna all evening, had wanted her in fact from the moment he had seen her again. And now he had taken her.
He waited for Susanna to deny it but she was silent. She was trying to tidy her hair now, a pointless process since the pins that had held it were probably scattered over half the garden. Her face was in shadow and her hands steady now as she smoothed her gown down over her hips. The movement only served to remind him of what lay beneath those gauzy skirts; the sleek smoothness of her belly and thighs, the heat of her body as it closed about his. He felt his cock stir again. The only problem with breaking two years of celibacy with astounding sex was awakening the need to do it again. And again.
He saw Susanna’s gaze travel over him. He had not stopped to remove any of his clothes. His jacket hung open, his shirt was untucked and his cravat had disappeared somewhere. He had done up his pantaloons but they struggled to contain his renewed erection. He felt as callow and hot as a youth who had only just discovered sex.
“You are not looking your usual immaculate self,” Susanna commented. Her voice was her own again, cool, composed.
“Well, forgive me,” Dev said. “I am sure that if you give me the chance I could make love to you so delicately that neither of us need disarrange our clothing.”
Once again she was silent. That was unusual. Most women he had known wanted to talk after sex, about him, about themselves, about their nonexistent future relationship. Susanna, in contrast, walked softly across to the summerhouse door and stood facing the garden, her back to him. The wind hushed through the birch tree and the moonlight painted its trunk in shades of black and silver.
“What the devil were you doing trespassing in my garden?” she said abruptly, after a moment.
It was so incongruous after what had happened between them that Dev almost laughed aloud.
“And what the devil,” Susanna added, “were you doing behaving like that …” Her voice faded away and Dev knew that for all her apparent calm she was still shaken to the core, utterly shocked by what had happened between them.
“I was trespassing in more than your garden,” Dev drawled. “If it comes to that, what were you doing responding to me?”
She turned. He saw confusion in her eyes and realized that she did not know the answer to that question. She did not know why she had wanted him, why she had responded to him so passionately, or why she had made love with him. He could see that it troubled her deeply.
The flickering silver moonlight seemed to accentuate her blush. “I thought—” She stopped.
“You thought that I was Fitz?” Dev suggested.
“No!” She almost snapped the words. “I knew it was you.…” Her voice trailed away into uncertainty again.
“You said my name,” Dev pointed out helpfully.
“Yes …” She was frowning. “And I didn’t … I haven’t—”
“You haven’t made love with Fitz?” Dev felt a blaze of triumph.
“That is none of your concern.” She had regained her poise now, at least outwardly, although the agitated tap of her footsteps as she turned and walked away from him rather suggested otherwise. Her swishing skirts caught the rosemary edging the path and released a tumble of fragrance onto the hot night air. It smelled sweet and poignant.
Dev followed her for no better reason than that he wanted to.
She stopped, turned; looked exasperated. She raised a hand to halt him in a gesture that betrayed her nervousness.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “What are you doing in my garden?”
“This is your garden?” Dev said. He could not help but laugh. Susanna looked disgusted at his facetiousness.
“In point of fact it’s the Duke of Portsmouth’s garden,” she said. “I am renting his house for the rest of the Season.”
“But this is number 25 Curzon Street?” Dev said.
“Number 21.” She looked more closely at him. “I think that your navigation may be at fault. You were looking for Lord Brooke’s house?”
For some reason Dev did not want to admit it and it was not simply because he wanted to protect Emma’s reputation. But Susanna had already worked everything out.
“You had an assignation with Lady Emma.” Her tone was suddenly flat. “I see. Well, at least I suppose she is your fiancée.” An odd shade came into her voice. “I did not think that you would have seduced her.”
“You’ve thought about it, then?” Dev said politely. “Jealous?”
She gave him a look of searing contempt. “Naturally not.”
“After what has just happened,” Dev said, “I find it difficult to believe you.”
“A case of mistaken identity.” She snapped a twig from the privet and shredded it between agitated fingers. “You thought that you were seducing Emma and I—” She stopped again.
“I thought no such thing,” Dev said. “I knew it was you.”
She shot him a sharp look. “Then why did you do it if it was Emma you originally intended to seduce?”
“Because I wanted you more,” Dev said.
He saw her eyes narrow. “You have even fewer morals than I had imagined,” she said contemptuously.
“Very probably,” Dev said. “But we are not talking about me, we are talking about you.” He braced one hand against the trunk of a leaning apple tree, trapping her between him and the garden wall. “Perhaps you make love with all random strangers who wander into your garden at night,” he said softly.
“Perhaps I do.” Her green gaze was defiant. She made no move to escape him though he sensed the tension in her and the urgent need to get away. “I think you should leave,” she added. She glanced across at the door in the wall. “And I will make sure to lock the door behind you.”
Dev did not move. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to make love to her again. He wanted it with a ferocity and a need that was startling. He had never wanted to make love to a woman he did not like before. Fortunately that had left him plenty of choice since he liked women very much as a rule. But this woman … He despised her calculation and her utter lack of moral compass. Yet he desired her so much that the hunger raked at him fiercely. And now that he had taken her once his need was a hundred times more potent, a thousand. Perhaps the celibacy of the previous two years had sharpened his lust for her. Yet even though he would have liked to have dismissed it as something so simple he knew it was not so. The need he had for Susanna was as complicated as it was unquenchable. She felt it, too. He knew it. It was the reason she had responded to him, against all sense and all reason. Neither of them could explain it and right now he did not even want to try.
“Of course,” he said. “I should go.” He made no move at all.
Susanna looked at him with those troubled eyes. Somewhere in the distance a roll of thunder rumbled. The moonlight had almost vanished now and the night felt hot, the darkness
heavy and the air still, as though it was waiting.
Dev raised a hand, gently brushing the strands of hair away from the pure line of Susanna’s neck. Her skin felt cool and smooth beneath his fingertips. His hand slid to her nape and he exerted the tiniest pressure to bring her closer to him. She took a step forward. Her palms came up against the front of his jacket.
“Devlin …” There was a warning in her voice. He heard it but it was so at odds with the expression in her eyes that he discounted it. It was surely impossible that she, the adventuress, could look so innocent. Lost even. Yet he remembered the honesty of their lovemaking. Not even the finest actress could have simulated such sincerity. Some element of artifice would have given her away. No, there had been no pretence between them when they had been in that most intimate of embraces.
So … This was real. Neither of them understood it. Neither of them was comfortable with it. Both of them wanted it.
Dev bent his head and kissed her, very gently this time. He felt her stiffen as though she was trying to put up barriers against him but after a second the rigidity in her melted away and her lips softened beneath his. Primal possessiveness roared through him, urging him to grab her and carry her inside, up to her bed. He mastered it and kissed her again, softly, sweetly, his lips brushing the line of her jaw and the corner of her mouth before returning fully to take her lips again in a deep, demanding kiss.
“What you said in the carriage is correct,” she said when he let her go. She sounded slightly lost, as though she had drunk too much. “You are very good at this.” She sighed. “You are a rake.”
The thunder was rolling closer now. Dev felt the first drops of rain starting to fall, slow and heavy. He smiled and drew Susanna back into his arms. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, the beat of her heart slamming against his. The raindrops were running down her neck now. “Your point?” he murmured as he lowered his lips to the curve where her neck met her shoulder. He licked up the water and felt her quiver.
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