by Sara Ramsey
But her Briarley heart seized the moment.
“What is the cost?” she asked.
He pulled her closer, kissing her forehead with the same gentle grace he’d used on her hand. “I won’t take your money. And if you still want to find a husband among the suitors here, solely for the sake of winning Maidenstone, I will help you. But if you choose Maidenstone over everything else that matters to you, it will cost you everything in the end.”
He sounded so dark, so sure. She wanted his laughter back. “You aren’t a very good governess, are you?” she said.
One of his hands curled over her shoulder. His thumb grazed her collarbone, rolling the chain of her necklace across her skin. “No. Whoever hired me should be horsewhipped.”
Callie laughed. But it was weak and breathy as his thumb lazily traced over her skin again. “Then if you aren’t a good governess, what are your intentions?”
Thorington’s other hand caressed over her back, down to the curve of her waist. “I intend to show you what you will lose if you marry for Maidenstone instead of your own heart. Take it from one with vastly more experience in these matters than you — you aren’t meant for this kind of life.”
This was entirely, completely unexpected. She tried to take a step back, but his arms held her still.
“Then you shall have to help me find someone who might love me,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “I shall double your salary if you succeed.”
His fingers gripped her waist, very nearly hostile. She ached — not from his touch, but from the sudden, sharp hope for something she still couldn’t voice.
She wanted it to be him.
Even thinking it was too much to bear. It wouldn’t be him. Perhaps, if he were Gavin, she might have won him. But Thorington, with his hand on her hip and his mouth twisting into something cold, wasn’t something she could win.
And the cost of trying to win him might be even higher than the cost of settling for someone she could never love.
The hand that still toyed with her necklace moved to her jaw and tilted her chin up. He forced her to look at him as he said, “This lesson is free, Callista.”
She loved how he said her name.
She was a fool for even thinking it. A fool for letting him touch her. A fool for coming to him, when she had known that asking for his help on this matter was akin to poking a bear.
She drew a sharp, shuddering breath. “Do you intend to compromise me, sirrah?”
He didn’t laugh. “Only if you let me. But you’ll let me, won’t you? You’ve dreamed of this...”
His mouth dipped down before she could respond. He kissed her with complete confidence, complete conviction.
“You’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured against her lips. “You’ve dreamed of my hands on you. You’ve dreamed of wrapping your legs around me. You’ve dreamed of raking your nails down my back.”
He was trying to shock her. Callie wanted everything he described — wanted it with sudden, excruciating need. But she wouldn’t say it. “I’ve dreamed of putting your mouth to better purpose,” she said.
He laughed.
Just like that, he was Gavin again. She sensed the change in him as his lips claimed hers again. He was sweeter as he kissed her this time, but there was still an intensity there that should have scared her.
But she wasn’t scared. He held her as though trying not to break her, as though she was something infinitely precious. There was something vaguely terrifying about the way his fingers touched her cheek, about the way he leashed his strength as he kissed her.
It wasn’t his touch that terrified her, though. It was her melting heart. It was how her hand, unbidden, slid up his chest and fisted his cravat to pull him closer. It was how his low groan, as he bent his head to kiss her more deeply, was something she never expected to hear from him — the first hint of control slipping beyond his reach.
He was like the sea, she realized, as he invaded her mouth. Dark one moment, like a wave crashing over her; light the next, smooth and unreadable.
Fool that she was, she preferred the waves.
He shifted, still kissing her, and she was too dazed for a moment to realize his intent. But then she felt his hands on her back — felt his fingers making quick, clever work of the buttons on her dress.
She should have stopped him then. But he was the first and only man she’d ever dreamed of. She knew this was a seduction aimed at teaching her a lesson — although why he wanted to teach her a lesson was still unclear to her. Her mind was too distracted to guess his reasons, and her heart wanted pleasure more than it wanted answers.
So she didn’t stop him. She arched her back instead, using her grip on his cravat to keep him close. He groaned again.
The last button slid free. His hands returned to her shoulders, shoving the tiny sleeves down her arms. She had to give up her stake on his cravat then, but her recompense was immediate — as her dress slipped to the floor, he drew a tortured breath and traced a finger over the necklace she still wore, following the chain down to the sapphire nestled between her breasts.
“Callista, you’ll be the death of me.”
The yearning in his voice was the sound of starvation. It didn’t fit all his wealth and influence.
It was loneliness. Pleasure so long denied that it had turned to ash.
“Gavin,” she whispered.
She closed her eyes against his face — the harsh lines of his jaw seemed forged by pain, and it was more than she could bear. She felt his hands abandon her necklace and slide to her breasts. Her chemise still covered her, but the fabric didn’t diminish the demand of his touch. He rolled his thumbs over her nipples, again, and again, until her greedy heart forgot his unhappiness and started chanting more.
More of his hands, big enough to cover her fully, clever enough to reduce her whole body to those points where he’d aroused an aching, shuddering need. More of his mouth as he kissed her again. More of the sharp newness of this — of not quite knowing what he would do next, and yet knowing, instinctively, what she wanted.
This time, she wasn’t surprised when his hands abandoned her.
She wasn’t surprised when her stays fell to the floor.
But she was very surprised when he left her chemise untouched. And she was surprised enough to open her eyes when, instead of kissing her, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
He tossed her onto it like a warrior dealing with a captive maiden. Perhaps it was the room that gave her that fantasy — three hundred years earlier, such brutality would have been unremarkable.
Or perhaps it was the way he looked at her, his eyes roving where his hands had so recently touched her. “You are magnificent, Callista,” he said, his voice rough. “Never forget that.”
He loosened his cravat. That gesture alone was enough to make her heart speed up. There was something dangerous in the strong column of his throat, in the way his fingers moved, perfectly assured. He cast the cravat aside and shrugged out of his jacket.
When she dragged her gaze away from his chest, she found that his eyes had never left her face. “I should ask again what your intentions are,” she said.
“I should think you can guess,” he replied.
He tugged his shirttails from his breeches and pulled his shirt over his head.
Callie swallowed. “This is all very enlightening, of course. But you can’t mean to ruin me.”
He dropped the shirt to the floor, then smoothed a hand over his ruffled hair. The attempt to make himself presentable, when he was entirely disreputable, was somehow adorable.
“Would you feel ruined, my dear? If I kissed you again?”
“No,” she whispered.
He took a step toward her. “What if I touched you again? Do you already feel ruined by my touch?”
She shook her head.
He took another step. “And when I strip you out of that chemise — will you feel ruined then?”
She couldn�
�t respond anymore.
He took the last step, nudging her legs apart to stand between them, a conqueror poised to claim her. “You deserve passion, Callista. And you don’t owe anything to any man until you make a vow on your wedding day. It’s not ruin unless you think it is.”
Her heart had answered his previous questions, but Callie was still herself. And the part of her that had successfully run a shipping company knew when a potential partner was making false promises.
She leaned up on her elbows. “I won’t feel ruined. But if anyone catches us, it won’t matter how I feel. I’ll be ruined anyway.”
“No one will catch us,” he said.
She frowned. “Why are you so intent on doing this? And don’t say it’s because you’re my governess, or I’ll knee you in the groin.”
He put a hand on her knee as though to protect himself, but he smiled as he did so. “You should have been an Amazon, darling. The reason is simple, really. You want an adventure. And I want to give it to you.”
She wished he’d changed the order of that — wished he’d said that he wanted her, not made it seem like he wanted to help her. But her resolve was faltering. And she couldn’t deny that she had purposefully sought him out rather than staying safely in her room.
When she didn’t respond, Thorington’s smile said he knew he’d won. “No one will catch us,” he repeated. “Let me give you this. And then you’ll know whether Maidenstone is worth the price of a business arrangement instead of a love match.”
He grabbed her ankle and pulled her closer. Her chemise shifted under her, and his hands skimmed under her derriere to grasp the hem and pull it up over her waist. She tensed a little as he did this — and he seemed to sense her hesitation, because he left the chemise where it was, leaned down, and kissed her again. Harder, this time — he knew he would win in the end. But his lips were somehow reassuring.
Callie didn’t stop him. His views on chastity were shocking — or they were thoroughly debauched, said just to make her spread her legs for him.
But ultimately it didn’t matter. Her Briarley heart wanted this, more than it had ever wanted anything.
And so she gave in to the temptation of his lovely male chest and the coarse hair curling over it. She stroked her hands over his shoulders, then down, in an echo of how he’d touched her before. He still kissed her, but as she found his small, flat nipples, he groaned again.
“Yes,” he murmured, nipping at her lips with his teeth. “Touch me.”
She couldn’t have stopped even if he’d asked the opposite.
Her hands grew more confident as she explored his chest, then the planes of his belly, then the broad expanse of his shoulders and the lean sinews of his arms. He had braced himself against the bed with a hand on either side of her, not touching her beyond the kisses demanded by his devouring mouth.
And so she learned her first lesson of the night — she could grow aroused just by touching him, even if he didn’t touch her at all.
Finally, one of his hands came to her shoulder and slid the sleeve of her chemise down to her elbow. He did the same to the other, effectively pinning her arms at her sides.
This time she didn’t grow tense, and he didn’t hesitate. He bent down and caught one of her nipples between his teeth.
She’d thought she wanted him before. But this, suddenly, was a different level of need. His questing mouth had taken her by surprise, and she was entirely at his mercy. He bit, lightly, then soothed the fleeting pain with the warmth of his mouth and a soft caress of tongue. Meanwhile, he stroked her other breast, teasing it, denying it.
Within minutes, as he alternated between her breasts, she was struggling against her chemise, trying to free her arms. He finally took pity on her, pulling it over her head and throwing it aside to join the pile of clothes they’d left behind. “Do you feel ruined now?” he asked.
She felt too glorious to be ruined. “You will have to do better than that, sirrah.”
“My saucy colonial,” he murmured. “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.”
Then he drew his fingers over her belly. She guessed his destination, and she suddenly felt shy — not ruined, not by him, but still a little uncertain. She started to cover herself, but he grabbed her wrist and pinned it over her head.
That gesture never should have seemed reassuring. But he twined his fingers in hers as though he would hold onto them forever.
Her stupid Briarley heart skipped a beat.
His other hand, though, showed no mercy. He buried his fingers in her curls, stroking, seeking. He found his target immediately, drawing his middle finger over the most sensitive bit of flesh.
She gasped. “Is this the lesson?”
He stroked her again, and again, his touch firm and confident. “Part of it. Now pay attention or you won’t pass your exams at the end of it.”
He didn’t have to order her to pay attention. She couldn’t think of anything beyond how his hand pressed against her. He teased her with feathery touches one moment, then drove her mad with demanding strokes the next. Occasionally his fingers slipped lower, parting her slick folds to slide briefly into her core.
It was maddening. And it was entirely beyond her capacity to deny him. She arched her back, wanting more. His other hand still held hers. She squeezed his fingers, trying to urge him on. Her free hand came up to his arm, digging into his flesh, wanting him to stop the torment...
Suddenly, he stopped.
And she realized that wasn’t what she’d wanted at all.
“Please,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I cannot do this under false pretenses.”
He dropped her hand. She leaned up on her elbows. “What are you saying?”
Then she realized he was unbuttoning his trousers.
Her heart skipped another beat.
“I should tell you this isn’t just about teaching you a lesson,” he said.
“No?”
“No.” He kicked off his shoes as his fingers still worked his buttons. “I intend to take my pleasure, too.”
His voice alone could arouse her. She didn’t even need to touch him. Something ached in her belly as she watched him finish with the fastenings. But he didn’t cast his trousers aside yet.
Instead, he held her gaze. “Will you feel ruined if we continue?”
She shook her head.
“Think about it,” he said.
His voice was as neutral as she guessed he was capable of at the moment — as though he really did want her to make the choice that was right for her.
“I want you, Gavin,” she said.
He grinned, more from pleasure than victory. “Indeed you do.”
She laughed. “My saucy duke. Does etiquette say I should send you an invitation now? A calling card?”
“I’ve received your message,” he said drily.
He dropped his trousers.
And then there were no more words.
He moved over her again, shifting them both more fully onto the bed. His fingers came back to torment her. It felt like only moments before she was back to the precipice he’d driven her to before…and yet the wait for the torment to end seemed endless.
But it couldn’t have been endless. It must have been only minutes that she writhed beneath him, fisting the coverlet in her hands as she arched against him — gasping his name when he brought his mouth back to her aching breasts.
Finally, something in the way he held her changed. The rain had slowed outside, but inside, it felt like a new storm was gathering. He nudged her thighs apart. She opened for him willingly — she would have done anything for him, if it meant he would finish what he had started.
She knew what should come next. But he didn’t move toward her. Instead, he leaned back on his heels, kneeling between her splayed legs, keeping her from closing them. She still wore her stockings and slippers, and the sight of pale, soft silk against his sinewy thighs sent another jolt of lust through her belly.
She should have been fascinated by his member, or concerned about the pain Mrs. Jennings had warned her about. But at the moment, she was more mesmerized by his eyes. They roved over every inch of her, from the most innocent to the most intimate, as though he wanted to commit her to memory.
“Magnificent,” he whispered.
She reached her hand up and brushed it over his heart. “Perfect,” she whispered back.
It was the only word she had for that moment. But it seemed to cause him pain. He didn’t give her one of his smooth, cutting retorts — but he didn’t smile. He stared at her for another endless minute.
Then he leaned over her. “Promise me, Callista. Promise you won’t give yourself to anyone who cannot give you this.”
She couldn’t look away. And she was afraid, then, that her eyes had given too much away — that her voice had betrayed her, that her body had abandoned her, that her soul had ruined her.
She wanted him, not someone else.
But that wasn’t what he offered.
“I promise,” she said.
He kissed her. This time his mouth ravaged hers. If he wasn’t careful, she would be bruised in the morning. His fingers sought out her core again, testing her. The head of his cock replaced his fingers, and she felt a moment of panic — but it was the panic of the unknown, not true fear.
She could never have him, but she would never fear him.
She squeezed her eyes shut against that thought, spread her legs more fully to welcome him even as her soul began its premature mourning. And then slowly — more slowly than she thought him capable of — he moved forward an inch, then another, until he was seated to the hilt.
“Am I hurting you?”
Yes. But it wasn’t the sharp, almost nauseating pain of his entry that made her gasp. That had already begun to subside, especially as his fingers returned to their clever work.
It was the knowledge that she would never have him again. How could her mind choose this moment — this perfect moment of connection — to remind her of that? If she wanted to have him again, she would have to give up everything for him — her freedom, her fortune, her claim to Maidenstone.