Corey McFadden
Page 28
“I believe I could use a bite at that, Mr. Thorpe,” replied his bride, her tone as proper as any duchess. He presented his now-gloved hand and she placed her gloved hand in it, stepping gracefully from the carriage.
“Now then,” he said, presenting his arm to her.
As she reached for him, her eyes, straying down, widened in alarm, “Julian, wait!” she choked out, and gestured frantically with her fingers toward his nether regions. He looked down and, to his horror, saw a good-sized bit of white shirttail protruding quite obviously from the front of his breeches placket.
“Oh, the devil,” he expostulated, turning back to face the carriage, and pushing frantically at the infernal stray piece, tucking it back where it belonged. He straightened himself, took a deep, calming breath, and turned back to Elspeth, who wasn’t helping matters in the least by being purple in the face, and snorting with an effort not to collapse in fits of giggles.
“Madam?” he said coolly, offering her his arm again.
“Sir,” she replied loftily. She took his arm, and they dared not so much as a glance at one another as they made their stately way into the inn.
Chapter Eighteen
It seemed to take forever to finish the lavish dinner presented to them by the innkeeper himself, in the small but nicely appointed private dining room. Elspeth found that she was ravenous, and for a short while feared that she could hardly get enough to eat as several fine dishes were set before the bride and bridegroom with a flourish. And then after the first few mouthfuls, she could hardly swallow a bite. Julian had attempted a little conversation here and there, and she gamely tried to be responsive, but for the life of her, she could hardly mind what he said. All she could think of was the large, tastefully appointed bedchamber that awaited them upstairs. And the large bed.
Oh, when would this supper end? And just when she thought the meal would, indeed, go on eternally, like something out of Norse mythology, the dishes were being cleared away and he was standing, holding out his hand to her. In a few moments, she would be upstairs ...alone...with Julian....
She was on fire. She was cold as ice. She was terrified down to the very toes of her slippers.
With one hand on her elbow and one resting lightly on her back, he helped her up the narrow wooden stairs. The inn was old, dating back, or so they said, to the great Tudor era. Good Queen Bess, herself, was said to have slept in this very room. That did not seem important now. She did find herself hoping it hadn’t been on the very same mattress.
Julian pushed the door open and helped her through. He seemed aware that she was nervous. He was very gentle with her. She saw that their bags had been brought up and a few things unpacked. Her silk nightgown lay out on the bed. Next to it was a fine lawn garment—Julian’s nightshirt, of course.
He stood behind her as she gazed about the room. She was aware that she was trembling slightly and was mightily annoyed with herself. The man must think her a perfect fool! She felt his hands touch her, very softly on her shoulders. She leaned back against him with a sigh. It felt so good to lean against his big, broad chest, to know he was there, and that he loved her, indeed.
“Are you still worried, my heart?” he whispered in her ear, following the question with a nibble and a light kiss on the back of her neck.
She shivered with delight. “I—I suppose I am, Julian,” she said simply. Gently, he turned her to him. He gazed deep into her eyes.
“Would you feel more comfortable if you could actually see, Elspeth?” he asked, the teasing obvious in his smile. “You can put on your spectacles, if you feel the need.”
“Oh, Julian,” she laughed. “I’m nervous enough without actually being able to see...things,” she finished, somewhat lamely. He gave a laugh, deep in his throat, almost like a growl, and pulled her toward him. Carefully, he leaned forward, and brought his lips to hers. It felt like a bolt of lightning, every time he kissed her. That she went mad, and lost all reason when he touched her was beyond doubt. She could feel him deepen the kiss, moving his lips against hers, as he gently ran his tongue against her soft mouth, pushing, just slightly. Her lips parted against his and she felt herself sigh. His tongue sought hers, and a thrill ran through her as she felt her own response, deep within. She shifted in his arms to push herself closer, so that they touched, up and down the length of their bodies, and a low moan escaped her.
At last he drew his head back from hers. He turned her in his arms, and with fingers as nimble as any lady’s maid, he undid her buttons, one by one, down the length of her back. He lifted the dress over her head and tossed it negligently over the back of a chair.
She stepped out of her slippers and now she stood wearing nothing but her chemise and silk stockings. He turned her around to face him, holding her away a bit, his eyes drinking their fill. With hands that trembled, she reached up and began untying the intricate twists of his neckcloth. He threw back his head with a smile and let her fingers do the work. It came loose at last, and with a mischievous grin, she pulled it free of his neck, and tossed it atop her dress on the chair. She reached up and divested him of his frock coat, then went to work on his waistcoat buttons. He stood very still, a small smile playing about his lips, and let her undress him.
The waistcoat went the way of the dress, the neckcloth, and the frock coat.
And then she looked down. “Julian,” she whispered breathlessly, unable—or was it unwilling—to take her eyes from the obvious bulge in his breeches.
With a growl, he swung her into his arms, and carried her over to the bed. He laid her down in the middle, then sat down next to her. His eyes, starting at the top of her head, took her all in, down to the tip of her toes. She could feel herself tingling all over, as if she could feel his very look.
“You are exquisite,” he whispered, as his hand reached around her waist. The light cotton chemise rode up under his fingers. He lay down alongside her and gathered her to him. Now they were touching, every inch along the length of their bodies, thin cotton and the kerseymere breeches all that lay between their flesh. He pulled her closer still, and dropped his mouth to hers for another searing kiss that left her gasping. He moved his hand to her thigh, rubbing it, teasing her sensitive skin. He lifted his mouth from hers, and her head fell back. She was breathing in rapid pants now, and so was he. He traced a line from her lips, down her neck. His lips inched down, down, his tongue tracing a path along the soft, milk-white skin of the swell of her breasts. His hand moved up, up along the side of her, coming to rest on her bosom. She gasped, and pressed closer, moaning. His hand found her nipple under the cotton of her chemise and he pulled the thin stuff away impatiently. His hand cupped her naked breast, and he moaned soft and low in her ear as she arched against him. Behind him, her hands moved down his back, then up again, rather frantically, as she sought something...something, but she did not know what.
He moved his hand again to her thigh, and then her calf, where he came to the edge of her chemise. He moved his hand on her silk stocking, rubbing her leg, then moving his hand up slowly. Just over the knee, the silk stocking came to an end at its lace garter. He did not stop. She could feel the soft, warm flesh of his chest pressed against her, and still, his hand traced upward on her thigh.
She did not flinch when his fingers found her moistness, but she threw back her head and moaned his name. And now her hand slid down his chest, tracing over his belly, and coming to rest just shy of.…
“Ah, Elspeth, sweetheart!” he moaned, taking her hand in his and pressing it against his hardness. It was like touching fire. He reared back, a low moan escaping his lips, and pushed hard, hard against her. She fumbled with the buttons on his breeches, and he let her. After a seeming eternity, the fastenings came loose and he sprang forth, hard and hot.
“Let me see,” she whispered close to his ear, feeling the shivers of pleasure that rippled through him.
He rolled away, and lay on his back, gasping for breath, his eyes raking her. She looked down.
&
nbsp; “Ah, Julian,” she whispered, with a long look. Then she reached for him. As her fingers grasped him, he cried out, and grabbed her hand, holding it still.
“Elspeth, wait!” he gasped out. “I want you so much, I have almost no control!”
“It’s so soft, and yet so hard,” she whispered, wonder in her voice. He did not answer.
“That is what goes inside me?” she asked, moving her fingers gently along his shaft.
“Yes,” he croaked out.
“Will it hurt terribly? It seems so large,” she said. She could hardly keep the fear from her voice.
“Oh, my darling,” he whispered against her hair. “It does hurt the first time, I am sorry to say. But after that, it does not hurt again. After that first time, I think you’ll find it pleasurable.”
“Then do it now, Julian,” she said, urgently. “Take me now. Let’s get the hurt over with, and then I can feel the pleasure.”
“Are you sure, my heart? We can wait, if you are fearful of the pain.”
“I will never forgive you if you don’t do it now, Julian. I would rather get the pain over with. I am most anxious to get on with the pleasure.” Her hand grasped him tightly, and he fell back against the pillows again, with a low moan.
She rubbed him, tentatively like the virgin that she was, not really knowing what to do. Her hand closed tight against him and she began to rub him harder. “Julian,” she whispered urgently, “show me what to do.” He wrapped his hand around hers, showing her, without telling, how to touch him. His other hand slid down again. “Julian,” she gasped as his fingers found the secret place. She could feel herself grow wet and hot. He slid his finger into the moistness, and she fell against him, moaning. “Oh, what are you doing?” she cried. She moved hard against him, faster and faster, gasping in each breath. He pressed his fingers hard against her, sliding them into her wet sheath, using his thumb to press where he knew, as she did not, that she needed the pressure.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned, moving faster and harder against his hand. But, maddeningly, he did just that. He stopped, and rolled over, reaching for her and pulling her atop him. Her thighs now straddled his hips, and she was astonished at the pleasure that flooded her at the feel of it. His hard shaft pressed against her moistness, and all rational thought fled.
“I’ll go quickly,” he gasped, reaching down to guide himself into her. “It will only hurt for a moment, I promise.”
She stopped his words with a long, deep kiss, her tongue thrusting deep into his mouth, just as he thrust hard inside her. She felt the barrier give against his assault and could not stop herself from crying out, as her sheath closed tight around him.
“Are you all right, my love?” he whispered.
“Yes, oh, yes,” she said, her voice ragged. Slowly, gently, he began to move again. She knew that she was wet and slippery and tight. He moved faster, thrusting deep and hard. With a cry, he arched upward, the seed bursting from him as he pumped again and again into her wetness. He placed his finger against the hot nub, and she gave a great cry, feeling waves of pleasure washing over her. And then she lay still, panting. She could not move.
Gradually, she felt herself come back, as if from a distant place. Tentatively, he moved his lips against her hair and then to her cheek. “I’m sorry, my darling,” he whispered. “Did I hurt you badly?” he asked, his eyes clouded with worry.
“You were right, Julian,” she whispered. “I barely felt the pain, because the pleasure was so great.”
In answer he gave a laugh and rolled her over, keeping their bodies locked tightly together. “Well, that’s a relief, Mrs. Thorpe,” he said in between the kisses he rained down all over her race, in her hair, on her neck, on her breasts. “Because I intend to do that to you every chance you give me for the rest of our lives.”
“I will find that a suitable arrangement, Mr. Thorpe,” she said, playfully, nipping at his nose. Gently, he settled her in the crook of his arm. She was surprised to find herself yawning. Nestled there in the warmth of his arms, held fast in his love, she found herself drifting off, the swirl of her thoughts settling around the joy of this union, and it was all she could do to keep her owl eyes open....
Copyright © 2003 by Corey McFadden
Originally published by Leisure [ISBN 0843952172]
Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.BelgraveHouse.com
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: ebooks@regencyreads.com
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
Table of Contents
WITH EYES OF LOVE
Corey McFadden
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen