by Sylvia Day
“My lord, please!”
Hell and damnation. It sounded like heaven.
“Abigail.” He meant to hurry her off so they could meet naked—er, properly. But he was having the hardest time removing his fingers from around her nipples. Yes, her breasts were small, but her nipples were not. He couldn’t wait to—
Her lovely gown tore as he yanked the shoulder down and bared her breast. She cried out again as he lowered his mouth and suckled her. Such long, delicious nipples. They rolled over his tongue like berries and were just as sweet.
“Please, oh please, my lord.” She arched upward into his mouth and he almost came, that silken undulation an unbearable tease to his near-to-bursting cock.
It was only the sound of approaching laughter that saved her from ruination on a garden bench.
“Bloody hell.” He moved swiftly, pulling her up and straightening her bodice. The nipple he had been sucking poked wantonly through the silk and he rubbed his thumb over it, unable to help himself.
“Don’t stop!” she protested loudly, forcing him to cover her mouth with his hand.
“Someone is coming, love.” He waited until she nodded her understanding. “Do you know where my room is?” She nodded again. “I will be there shortly. Don’t dally. I will hunt you down if you do.”
Her eyes widened. Then she nodded emphatically.
“Go.”
Rhys watched her take a side path toward the manse and disappear from sight. Then he ducked behind a nearby vine-covered arbor and waited. It wouldn’t do for both of them to return to the house too closely to each other. Even if neither or only one were seen, it was best to be overly cautious.
“But to petition Parliament, Celeste?” came Lady Hammond’s voice from a nearby intersecting lane. “Think of the scandal!”
“I have thought of nothing but that for nearly five years,” retorted the dowager Lady Grayson. “I have never been so mortified as I was when they did not attend dinner this evening. Which was an excellent repast, I must say.”
“Thank you.” There was a long pause, then, “Grayson seems quite taken with his wife.”
“In only the most superficial sense, Iphiginia. Besides, she has no wish to be married. Not only has she proven that over the last four years, she has also said as much to me.”
“She did not!”
Blinking, Rhys thought exactly the same thing. Isabel would never say such a thing to Grayson’s mother.
“She did,” the dowager replied. “She and I have agreed to assist each other.”
“You jest!”
Good God! Rhys growled low in his throat. Bella would not be pleased when he saw her again. Damned if he wouldn’t be pulling her out of another scrape.
Waiting until the women moved further along, he then left his hiding spot and moved surreptitiously through the garden toward the manse, where sinful pleasures awaited him.
Abby paused a moment at Trenton’s doorway, wondering if one was supposed to knock before an assignation, or if she now had the right to just walk in unannounced. She was still debating this when the door flew open and she was yanked inside.
“What the devil took you so long?” Trenton complained, turning the lock and scowling down at her adorably.
Her stomach performed its little somersault again.
He was dressed in a burgundy silk robe, which revealed dark curling hair on his chest and hair-dusted calves that betrayed his nakedness beneath. With his arms akimbo, he was missing only the tapping foot to be a perfect picture of impatience.
Over her.
Her stomach flipped again.
How beautiful he was. What perfection! She sighed audibly. He was, of course, a bit hyperopic to miss her lack of physical charms, but she would not complain about that.
He reached for her and she sidestepped quickly. “Wait!”
“For what?” His scowl deepened.
“I—I have something to show you.”
“If it’s not you naked and writhing,” he grumbled, “I am not interested.”
She laughed.
She had watched him during dinner, noting his ready charm and droll discourse. The females seated on either side of him had been captivated, but she had felt his regard return to her often.
“Grant me a moment.” She arched a brow when he opened his mouth to protest. “This is my deflowering. Once we reach the bed, I will cede command of this affair to you. Until then, however, I would like the preliminaries to be under my control.”
Trenton’s lips twitched and his eyes sparkled with a heat that made her shiver with anticipation. If his behavior in the garden was any indication, he was going to devour her. “As you wish, love.”
Moving behind the privacy screen, she began to undress. This was not at all how she had imagined losing her virginity. There was no tender, patient husband waiting to treat her like fine porcelain. There was no ring on her finger or name attached to hers.
“What the devil are you doing?” he muttered, as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world and worthy of such avid interest.
He did have a way of looking at her that made her feel beautiful.
“I am almost done.” She had dressed in the gown that was the simplest to remove without assistance, but it was still a chore. Finally, though, she was free and prepared. Taking a deep breath, Abby stepped out from behind the screen.
“About bloody…” His words faded into silence as he ceased pacing and turned to face her.
She shifted nervously under the sudden overwhelming heat of his gaze. “Hello.”
“Abby.” Just one word, but it was filled with awe and pleasure. “My God.”
The fingers of her right hand fluttered nervously along the low neckline of her red gown. “My mother was blessed with a larger bosom, so I am afraid I cannot do the garment justice.”
Trenton approached with his innate elegant grace, his cheekbones flushed, his lips slightly parted on rapid breaths. “If you did any more justice to that garment, I would be on my knees.”
Blushing, she looked away, relishing the flutters she felt as he drew closer and then touched her gently. “Thank you.”
“No, love,” he murmured, his voice husky and deep, rippling down her spine. “I thank you. I cherish the gift you are giving to me.”
With a finger beneath her chin, he angled her mouth and fitted his lips to hers. The kiss started softly, but quickly built until his mouth was slanting feverishly over hers, stealing her breath, making her dizzy. She quivered against him and was caught close to his hard body, lifted, and laid upon the bed.
Then he was everywhere. Stroking, kneading. His fingers tugging, pinching. His mouth wet and suckling. Nipping teeth. Hoarsely voiced words of encouragement and praise.
“Trenton!” she begged, certain she would die as her body shuddered with longing he seemed determine to stoke, but not appease. For all his impatience earlier, he was not rushed now.
“Rhys,” he corrected.
“Rhys…”
Unsure of what to do, what to say, she could only touch his shoulders, his beautiful hair, the straining and sweat-dampened length of his muscular back. What a work of art he was, his body able to arouse her just by sight. All men were not as blessed as he was and she knew she was beyond fortunate to share her bed with such an incomparable masculine creature.
“Tell me how to please you.”
“If you pleased me any more, love, we would both regret it.”
“How is that possible?”
“Trust me,” he murmured before taking her mouth and sliding his hand up from the back of her knee to her hip. Before she could protest his fingers were parting the lips of her sex.
He groaned as his touch slipped through the slickness that gathered there. “You’re dripping.”
“I—I’m sorry.” She felt herself blush to the roots of her hair.
“Dear God, do not be sorry.” Rhys came over her, nudging her thighs wider. “It’s perfect. You are perfect.�
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She wasn’t. Not nearly. But the reverent way he touched her told her that for the moment at least, he truly thought she was.
Because of this, she bit her lip and held back her sobs as the broad head of his cock breached her, then pierced her and stretched her unmercifully. Despite her resolve to be a lover he would enjoy, she struggled.
Rhys pinned her hips, held her in place, slid inexorably into her. “…Hush…a little more…I know it hurts…”
And then something inside her made way for him and he was seated fully, a thick throbbing presence.
His palms cupped her cheeks, his thumbs brushed away her tears, his mouth worshipped hers. “Little one. Forgive me the pain.”
“Rhys.” She clung to him, grateful for him, knowing the trust she had in him was a rare, precious gift. Why this man, this stranger, should affect her the way he did, Abby could not collect. She was simply glad to have him for the little time he would be hers.
He held her, soothed her with praise. How soft she felt, how perfectly she fit him, how touched he was by the moment. She doubted a husband could have appreciated her more.
When she calmed, Rhys began to move, a torturously slow glide of his rock hard flesh from her swollen sex and then a sleek return. What pain there was faded and pleasure blossomed, unfurling like a flower so that she did not realize how she arched up to meet his downward thrusts until he spoke.
“Just like that,” he growled, his skin dripping sweat. “Move with me.”
Following his urgently voiced commands, she wrapped his pumping hips with her legs and felt him slide impossibly deeper. Now every perfect stroke struck a place inside her that made her toes curl, made her writhe and claw at his back.
“Thank God,” he grunted when she dissolved into blissful release with a startled gasp.
Then he shuddered brutally and flooded her with liquid heat. Clutching her so tightly it was hard to breathe, he gasped, “Abby!”
She held him to her heart and smiled a woman’s smile.
No, it was not at all how she had dreamed of losing her virginity.
It was so much better.
Rhys woke to a softly muttered curse and opened his eyes. Turning his head, he could barely discern Abby hopping on one foot while holding the other.
“What the devil are you doing stumbling about in the dark?” he whispered. “Come back to bed.”
“I should go.” With the poor light provided by the banked fire, he noted that she was dressed as she had been when he’d opened the door to her.
“No, you should not. Come here.” He pulled the counterpane and linens back invitingly.
“I shall fall asleep again and never make it back to my room.”
“I will wake you,” he promised, already missing her slight body against his.
“It’s simply not practical for me to fall asleep again, only to be woken up in a few hours to move to my room where I shall fall asleep again and be woken up again by my abigail.”
“Love.” He sighed. “Why be practical alone when we can be impractical together?”
He barely made out the shaking of her head. “My lord—”
“Rhys.”
“Rhys.”
Ah, that was better. That softly dreamy quality that entered her voice when she said his name.
“I want to hold you a little longer, Abby,” he coaxed, patting the bed beside him.
“I must go.” She moved to the door and Rhys lay stunned, feeling bereft and put out by her ease in leaving him when he so desperately wished she would stay.
“Abby.”
She paused. “Yes?”
“I want you.” His voice was sleep-husky, which he hoped hid the tightness of his throat. “Can I have you again?”
The pause that stretched out made him grind his teeth. Finally she replied in a tone one would use to accept an invitation to tea. “I would like that.”
Then she was gone, as any sensible light-o-love would go. Without a lingering kiss or longing touch.
And Rhys, a man who had always been sensible about his affairs, found himself insensibly piqued.
“This is not at all what I envisioned when you asked me to accompany you,” Spencer grunted, hefting a boulder into place.
Gerard smiled and stepped back to note the progress they were making on the low stone wall. His intention had not been to labor, but when they’d come across a large number of his tenants working on the endeavor, he appreciated the opportunity. Hard work and aching muscles had taught him a great deal about looking inward for satisfaction and relishing the simple things, like a job well done. It was a lesson he was determined to pass on to his brother.
“Long after you and I are gone, Spence, this wall will remain. You are a part of something lasting. If you consider your past, can you think of anything else you have done that leaves a mark on this world?”
Straightening, his brother frowned. With their shirtsleeves rolled up, and dusty, scuffed hessians, they looked very little like the peer and family they were. “Please don’t tell me you have become philosophical as well. ’Tis bad enough you are doting on your own wife.”
“I suppose doting on someone else’s wife would be better?” Gerard said dryly.
“Damned if it wouldn’t be. That way, when you have had your fill, she becomes another man’s teary puddle and not your own.”
“What faith you have in me, little brother, considering my wife’s ability to bring men to tears.”
“Ah yes, messy, that. I don’t envy you.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and then burst into a grin. “However, when Pel’s crushed you beneath her heel like an annoying bug, I will be at the ready to help you recover. A little wine, a little women, and you shall be good as new.”
Shaking his head, Gerard looked away with a laugh and found his attention caught by a scuffle between two young men just a short distance down the grassy hill. Concerned, he left his spot.
“No need to worry, my lord,” came a gruff voice beside him. He turned to find the largest of the men standing at his side. “’Tis only my boy Billy and his friend.”
Gerard returned his attention to the scene and found the boys racing each other off the hill to the flat land below. “Ah, I remember days like that in my youth.”
“I think we all do, my lord. See the young girl sitting on the fence?”
Following the pointing finger, Gerard’s heart stilled at the sight of the pretty blonde who laughed at the two boys running toward her. Silvery hair caught the sunlight, competing in brilliance with her smile.
She was lovely.
And very much like Emily in appearance.
“The two of them ’ave been competing for her affections for years. She ’as ’erself a soft spot for my boy, but in truth, I ’ope she’s wise enough to pick the other.”
Gerard tore his riveted gaze away from the young beauty, and arched both brows. “Why?”
“Because Billy only thinks ’e fancies ’er. ’E’s got to compete with everyone, be better than everyone, and even though ’e knows she’s not the one for ’im, ’e just cannot bear to lose ’er adoration. ’Tis purely selfish. But the other boy, ’e really loves ’er. ’E’s always ’elping ’er with ’er chores, walking with ’er to the village. Caring for ’er.”
“I see.” And Gerard did, in a way he never had before.
Emily.
He had not thought of her at all on his Grand Tour. Not once. Too busy whoring to think of the adoring girl back home. Only upon his return and discovery of her marriage did he make any effort. Had he been like Billy? Simply jealous of attentions he hadn’t appreciated until they were given to another?
You have always wanted women who belong to someone else.
Dear God.
Gerard turned, moved to the finished portion of the low wall, and sat, his gaze sightless as he looked inside instead of outward.
Women. He suddenly thought of them all, all the ones who had crossed his path.
Was it only competition with Hargreaves that had driven him to want Pel so desperately?
Warmth built in his chest and spread outward as he thought of his wife. I want you. The way those words had made him feel had nothing to do with Hargreaves. It had nothing to do with anyone but Isabel. And now that a mirror had been set before him, he realized that she was the only woman who had ever made him feel that way.
“Are we done?”
Raising his gaze, he found Spencer standing before him. “Not nearly.”
Flooded with guilt for what he had done to Emily, Gerard set to work, doing what he had done for four long years—exorcised his demons by exhausting them.
“Lady Grayson.”
Lifting her gaze from the book before her, Isabel saw John approaching where she sat on the rear Hammond terrace and offered him a gentle smile. Nearby to the right, Rhys sat with Miss Abigail and the Hammonds. To the left, the Earl and Countess of Ansell were enjoying afternoon tea with Lady Stanhope.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” she greeted in return, admiring his trim form dressed in dark gray, and his sparkling eyes.
“May I join you?”
“Please do.” Despite the things left unspoken between them, she was grateful for his company. Especially after sharing tea with the dowager, who had thankfully just departed.
Closing her novel, she set it aside and gestured to a servant for more refreshments.
“How are you, Isabel?” he asked with a searching glance, once he settled in the seat across from her.
“I am well, John,” she assured him. “Very well. How are you?”
“I, too, am well.”
She glanced around, then lowered her voice. “Please tell me truthfully. Have I hurt you?”
His smile was so genuine it soothed her immeasurably. “My pride smarts, yes. But truthfully, we were slowly approaching the end of our association, were we not? I was oblivious to it, as I have been oblivious to most things since Lady Hargreaves passed on.”
Her heart welled with tenderness. Having lost a love once, she knew partly how it felt. It must have been much worse for John, since he had been loved in return.