Even now, he held back from undressing her. Until she stole the initiative. Unsteadily she shoved her bodice down. He caught her breasts as they tumbled forward. He pressed and stroked and kissed the impudent tips. She tasted like flowery honey and her perfume filled the air like a musky garden.
He was past denying her. This moment had been ordained from the instant he’d caught her crying in the moonlight. He couldn’t fight his desire. Not when her desire was just as ravenous.
The tension leached from him. Frantic nips and licks and kisses steadied to leisurely exploration. He even found the control to unlace her gown without tearing the delicate material.
He wasn’t ashamed of what he did. With love this powerful, there was no sin, however the world viewed what happened.
“Let me undress you, darling,” he whispered between kisses on her satiny neck.
She raised her arms like a small girl. Tenderness flooded his heart. Tenderness that made his hands shake as he pulled her gown over her head and laid it carefully on the chair.
She took less trouble with his coat. It crumpled onto the floor. She was impatient. But like him, her wildness gradually faded and in its place, a glowing calm lit her eyes to sapphire.
Carefully he unfastened her corset. After he’d slipped it off, he pulled her shift over her head.
She stood naked, every inch of pale, perfect skin flushed with gold from the fire he’d lit before her arrival. Her breasts were round and firm, crowned with rose-pink nipples. The firelight created mysterious shadows around her nest of dark blond curls.
He stepped back and drank in the sight. The emotions flooding him were complex, difficult to define. Joy. Desire. Those went without saying. But there was also the heady realization that he claimed this girl. After tonight, they were forever linked.
From the first, he’d pledged himself to her. But tonight when he introduced her to sensual pleasure—dear God, let him be adequate to the task—the promise went deeper than the ocean.
She was his and he was hers.
Somewhere in all the solemn eternities filling his heart lurked gratified satisfaction. That Harry Thorne stood with Sophie Fairbrother. That Harry Thorne had the privilege of touching her.
Her brilliant eyes met his and he knew that she made the same vows. When she slid the pins from her hair, her grace made his heart falter to a besotted stop. The shining mane cascaded around her bare shoulders, playing hide and seek with her breasts.
Harry swallowed to shift the emotion jamming his throat. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her self-confident smile set his soul singing. He caught a glimpse of the striking woman she’d become. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
With a carelessness in marked contrast to his fussing over Sophie, he kicked off his shoes and ripped away shirt and trousers, casting them wherever they fell.
Slowly he moved forward. Outside, London continued on its busy, ruthless, crowded way. Inside this room, a golden bubble of love enclosed him with Sophie.
He buried his hands in her hair and tipped her face up. Her lips parted and her eyes sparked with excitement.
In a daze, Pen let Cam lead her up the elaborate marble staircase. None of this made sense. She’d been so convinced he was furious. Yet he’d just called her magnificent. Not only that, he’d kissed her so sweetly, if she wasn’t careful, she’d persuade herself that he loved her.
When of course he didn’t.
She needed to remember that. Something almost impossible when he stared at her as if she’d brought him the sun for his lantern.
He swung her bedroom door open and drew her inside, pausing on the threshold for another heart-stopping kiss. She responded helplessly. How could she do otherwise? She loved him and somewhere during this topsy-turvy night, he’d lowered his barriers against her. She didn’t dare put a name to his feelings, but this untrammeled passion felt different. Less calculated. Less a triumph of skill over emotion.
Glittering green eyes transfixed her. His voice emerged as a hungry growl. “No games tonight, Pen.”
“I don’t—” she began, although she knew exactly what he meant.
He kissed her again, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. Arousal spiked. The blatantly earthy kiss set her aflame.
“Let’s start again, as two people who desire each other.” His smile conveyed a warmth that she hadn’t realized until now had been absent. “Hell, as two people who like each other.”
“I’ve always liked you, Cam.” What a coward she was. She used his lukewarm word when lukewarm was as far from her feelings as London was from Tahiti.
“I wanted to cheer tonight when you told that old cat to go to blazes.”
“I thought you’d hate me for making a scene.”
“I’ve never felt so proud. If you could have seen yourself, fire all but shot from your eyes. If you weren’t on my side, I’d have been quaking in my boots.”
She smiled. “Nothing frightens you.”
An unreadable expression crossed his face as he drew her toward the center of the room. “You do.”
She touched his face. Usually, fearing she’d betray herself, she curtailed affectionate gestures. “Yet you say you like me.”
“I’m damned glad you married me.”
He didn’t love her. But tonight he committed to her in a way that he never had. She should be satisfied.
“So am I.” She was astonished to realize that she meant it.
He was surprised too. “Are you?”
She felt like she stood naked in sunlight. The radiating heat reached to her bones, thawing the chill in her heart. “I meant what I said. You’re an exceptional man and I’m proud to be your wife.”
“Darling—” He sounded like her declaration touched him beyond words.
She decided to rescue him. He wasn’t accustomed to expressing emotion, but it was clear that he pledged his loyalty and affection. It wasn’t enough, but it was a lot. “Now take me to bed.”
He looked happier. She’d long ago realized that sensuality offered him an escape from self-containment. On a physical level, he held nothing back. His soul had always been the closed kingdom.
But staring into his eyes, she was astonished to see that was no longer true. Tonight the gates to his deepest heart lay open. He trusted her. For Camden Rothermere, that was as close as he’d ever venture to love.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Supporting Sophie’s back with spread hands, Harry gently lowered her onto the chaise longue. His conscience gave one last squeak at the idea of debauching the Marquess of Leath’s sister in his aunt’s house and with his sister’s unknowing connivance. But the warm, lithe reality of Sophie beggared caution.
Sophie’s arms twined around his neck and she covered his face and neck and shoulders with enthusiastic kisses. Harry followed her down, sliding between her legs. She wriggled, brushing him with her mound. The feathery touch threatened to undo him. He gritted his teeth and prayed for control. This was her first time and he wanted her to enjoy it.
“Sophie, easy now,” he gasped as she tilted her hips in invitation. “This can be uncomfortable if you’ve never done it before.”
“It doesn’t feel uncomfortable,” she said and, God help him, curled her bare legs around him until her feet caressed the backs of his thighs.
Seeing her—flushed, aroused, excited—sent good intentions flying. “Do you know what’s going to happen?”
“Yes. My governess was a widow who thought girls shouldn’t be kept ignorant.” Her soft laugh set off vibrations that added another layer to Harry’s torment. “She made me promise never to tell my brother.”
“I can imagine. What did she say?”
He waited for Sophie to repeat the accepted advice to blue-blooded young women approaching marriage. About obedience and pain and procreation.
“She said that if I loved the man and he loved me and we were kind and patient with each other, nature would work its m
agic.”
Shock made Harry rear up. He stared at the gorgeous creature beneath him. “Your brother should have paid her double.”
Their mouths molded together. When he raised his head, he heard her unsteady breathing. “Now touch me,” she whispered.
He didn’t succumb, whatever frantic approval his cock sent to his blood-starved brain. “Are you sure?”
Laughter lit her face, but profound emotion underlay the humor. “Harry, I’m naked in your arms. That means I’ve surrendered.”
The gleam in her eyes was irresistible. “All hail the victor.”
When she stretched up to kiss him, he couldn’t hold back. He’d wanted her so long.
He stroked her. Now she was naked, it felt like exploring a new country of gentle hills and valleys and plains. He concentrated on sensitive regions. Behind her knees. Her sweet, beaded nipples. Her nape. Deliberately he didn’t touch her sex, although her female scent made him shake with need. He kissed the tip of her breast, then drew it between his lips, hearing her sigh of pleasure. He rolled the other nipple between his fingers.
She shifted restlessly. “Oh, Harry…”
His tongue teased her nipple as his hands drifted down her flanks to her waist and the alluring flare of her hips. Finally, unable to wait, he slipped his hand between her legs. He stroked the satiny folds, finding the place that made her gasp and tremble. Taking encouragement, he touched her over and over until she cried out and gushed over his fingers. When he raised his head, her eyes were dark and her face was flushed. Her parted lips were full and red.
“Sophie?”
She blinked as if returning from far away. “I liked that.” Her slender throat worked as she swallowed. “Can you do it again?”
Triumph surged. “Shall I try?”
Her flush became more hectic. “Harry, I feel… empty without you.”
Immediately he understood. Hunger vied with his overwhelming need to cherish her. For all her vitality and eagerness, she seemed fragile. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She pressed so close to where he wanted her. Every time she moved, he struggled not to penetrate her. “I want you.”
Rapidly he reached a point where he needed to take the final step in this dance or leave the house. Given his state of undress, that would give the good residents of Russell Square something to talk about.
Very gently, he slid one finger into her. His belly contracted at how tight she was. He stroked her deep, feeling her clench. He used two fingers, making her pant for air. She was sleek and wet and her scent sharpened with need.
He stroked her until she quaked under the intimate caress, then he withdrew and propped himself above her. She raised her knees and tilted her chin with a defiant gesture that was so familiar, so beloved, that his pounding heart skipped a beat. Still, careful of her innocence, he eased forward. He inched inside until she’d accepted the head completely. She quivered and dug her fingers into his arms.
He kissed her until she relaxed. He pushed further. She breathed in gusts. A line appeared between her fine blond eyebrows.
“Should I stop?” he grated.
She shook her head and he felt her brace. Her tightening body blasted him with pleasure. “You’ll split in two if you stay this rigid.”
“This isn’t very… nice.” She closed her eyes on a wince.
“Sophie, I can stop.” He wasn’t sure he could. But he’d try. Dear heaven, he’d try. His carnal nature yelped denial at the prospect of chaste adoration. Having touched her body and witnessed her pleasure, it seemed the direst punishment.
“Don’t… stop.” To back up that choked command, she angled her hips, drawing him deeper.
“I must.” Sweat covered his skin and his muscles ached. His teeth must be ground to powder.
“No.” She clasped his buttocks. Her touch made him shake.
“Sophie, I’m sorry,” he muttered in a mixture of despair and unworthy pleasure. “I’m so sorry.”
On a deep groan, he thrust forward. She jolted at the invasion and released a soft cry. He closed his eyes and basked in heavenly completion. He felt part of her. They were united in a way that extended beyond words. No man could sunder them now.
He lowered, supporting his weight on his hands. Nuzzling her cheek, he pressed his chest into her breasts. She remained still and silent. He told himself to retreat. But he’d exhausted control. Instead, he stretched above Sophie in delight and self-hatred, and wondered despairingly whether she’d ever forgive him.
She moved. She probably wanted to shove him away and order him never to touch her again. He couldn’t blame her. The fact that it was good—beyond good—for Harry was irrelevant. Or at least so he told himself.
Then unbelievably, she slid her arms around his back. And Harry, who thought he couldn’t love this girl more, broke into a whole new universe of love. “My darling—” he sighed against the curve of her neck.
Not satisfied with that one astoundingly generous act, she shifted, settling him deeper. Heat speared him. He stared down at her. “I love you, Sophie.”
She was pale and still didn’t look like she enjoyed herself, but she summoned a smile. Not her most convincing effort, but he appreciated her trying. “I love you, Harry.”
He pulled away then pushed in. She hid a wince.
“I’m hurting you.”
“A little, but it’s better than it was.” She tightened her grip on his back as though afraid he meant to leave.
As if he could. He kept up the gentle undulation. It gave him blazing pleasure. Surely it must work on her. But still she lay like a frozen doll.
He was about to give up and spill himself on her belly when she released a sob that sounded more like delight than pain. He kissed her and this time she responded with a hint of enthusiasm. When he moved, she clenched in welcome.
With the next thrust, she rose to meet him and joy exploded behind his eyes like victory fireworks. She released a long moan that was a plea for more.
At last.
He couldn’t hold on much longer. Her eyes closed. Her features were strained. She started to shudder. Her nails scraped his back. The sting seared like flame.
On a massive groan, he pumped hard and furious, sealing their union.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cam stepped closer to Pen and cradled her marvelous face between his hands. There was such character there. Beauty of course, but much more. Intelligence. Generosity. Strength. She’d been an exceptional child and she’d grown into an exceptional woman. The right woman for him. Too good for him, by God, but he wouldn’t complain to destiny about that.
Nine years ago, he’d known himself better than he’d realized. Proposing to Penelope Thorne was the smartest thing he’d ever done.
His earliest memories were of lies and conflict and his parents’ selfishness. In the perpetual war between the late duke and duchess, their child’s welfare hadn’t counted for a farthing. Cam had learned young that people deceived and betrayed and destroyed. As he’d grown up, a few outstanding men like Richard and Simon, and later Jonas, had earned his friendship and trust—up to a point. But the deepest core of him always remained closed to intimacy.
Until tonight. Until Penelope had described a man he didn’t recognize as himself and with a ringing sincerity that had melted the ice in his soul. She’d been chipping away at that ice since they’d met in Italy, but now he could no longer keep her out of that bastion of isolation deep inside him.
He trusted his wife. Completely. Unconditionally. Unquestioningly.
His heart expanded as he remembered her standing up to those shrews. “You made me feel like a hero tonight, Penelope,” he whispered, kissing her between her dark eyebrows. “Thank you.”
She shook her head. “Cam, you’ve always been my hero. You must know that. When I was a little girl, I followed you around like a duckling follows its mother.”
“That was many years ago.”
Characteristic humor lit her seriousnes
s. “Not that many!”
“I rather like hearing that I’m still your hero.”
“You saved me from the bandits.” She sent him a glance beneath her lashes.
“I did indeed.”
“And from the waves.”
“That too,” he said, although he couldn’t laugh about nearly losing her to the sea. He still had nightmares about catching uselessly at her hair before the current ripped her away. He’d wake sweating and terrified.
“And I’m hoping you’ll now save me from a dull evening.”
He smiled at her, enchanted anew. “Let me remedy your boredom, Your Grace.”
He kissed her with openmouthed enthusiasm. She kissed him back with unfettered eagerness. She gave a soft squeak of surprise as he lifted her and carried her to the huge bed where they’d already rattled the gates of heaven.
“You look so smug,” she said with a delicious gurgle of laughter. She linked her hands around his neck and tugged at the hair brushing his collar.
“I’m a hero. My wife told me so.” Gently he laid her across the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. She rose on her elbows and slid back until he caught one slender ankle. “Don’t move.”
“Cam?” she asked uncertainly.
“I want to give you pleasure.”
“You have.”
“There’s more.”
“I doubt I’ll survive more.”
He smiled as he untied the ribbons around her ankle and slid one green silk slipper off. “Be strong.”
She lay back in silent acquiescence. He released her garter and slid her stocking down, then lifted her foot to kiss her instep. The fragrance of her skin filled his senses, a tantalizing hint of what was to come. He hid a sly smile and gave the other foot the same attention. He flicked his tongue across her toes until she shivered.
What a Duke Dares Page 27