Aylesbury lifted a curious brow. “Here?”
“Right here.” She nodded, reaching up to loosen her silk tie and slide it slowly off.
“Now?”
“Oh yes.”
* * *
Harry was sprawled back against the corner of the sofa, one arm across the back of the sofa, one down the arm. He looked utterly relaxed but Fiona could see the alertness in his eyes as he watched her walk toward him. While she felt like a huntress stalking him, he looked nothing like timid prey. Instead he looked ready to devour her.
Unbuttoning her jacket as she went slowly onward, she stripped it off her shoulders and threw it to the side before working the buttons of her white cotton blouse. As it opened button by button, his eyes dipped downward, caressing the swell of flesh above her camisole. Her breasts tingled as if he had touched her already. Leaving her blouse hanging open, she unfastened her skirt and let it fall. She wore only one petticoat beneath it, white brushed cotton with a single flounce and only one row of red piping at the hem.
While it was a far cry from the more elaborate undergarments she’d had on the previous night, Harry didn’t seem to mind. His hand fisted on the arm of the sofa as it slid to the floor. she stepped out of it and shrugged off her blouse, tossing it at a chair.
She watched as his hot gaze swept downward over her filmy white batiste combination camisole and drawers hemmed with a white ruffle, lace and satin ribbon. She wore no corset, but then Fiona never did when she was playing golf. Her stockings were plain white as well.
“Is this the virginal look you were expecting last night?’ she whispered huskily as she reached up to pull the pins from her hair. Her upraised arms lifted her breasts, drawing his gaze.
Harry drew in a shuddering breath as her coral nipples pressed visibly against the sheer camisole. “You don’t look virginal at all,” he rasped as her thick hair fell over her shoulder. “But rather sinful. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Hell, no.” She pushed off the sofa but Fiona held up a hand to stop him. He eased back down with a raised brow.
“No, stay right there. My control, remember?”
“Testing mine?”
She smiled, lifting her brows provocatively. “If need be.”
She pulled at the bowed ribbon between her breasts, opening her camisole to the waist. It slid off her shoulder and hung, caught on her hardened nipple. With a groan, Harry closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the sofa but they opened again quickly enough when Fiona tugged at another ribbon at her waist. With a shrug of her shoulder, the combination slid down, catching at her hips before dropping to the floor. Stepping out of it, she kicked it to the side and stood before her lover in near nudity as his smoldering eyes scored her from head to toe.
Her blood surged like a firestorm through Fiona’s veins. She felt beautiful, powerful, and very much in control once more, even though she knew that that control had been granted, not won. Knowing that Harry held himself back, that he allowed her that victory and why he did it, touched her deeply.
Knowing that he could lose that control and ravish her with all the fierce hunger that he had taken her with the night before was intoxicating. Some small part wanted him to do it, to make her submit to his power.
Another part made her want to see how far she could push him before he did.
Fiona ran her hands down her hips, watching his eyes flame as they followed along. Upward they turned, her palms skimming the front of her thighs, her flat belly that gave away nothing of the low throbbing pleasure already building within. Up her ribcage, Harry’s breath caught and held as she cupped her breasts, her nipples hardened under his lustful gaze. She grazed her fingers over the sensitive tips, imaging his hands on her, his body covering hers. Her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry lips and he groaned aloud.
Her hands drifted back over her belly and lower still.
“Fiona, don’t,” he ground out. “God, but you will be my undoing.”
“I hope so.”
She brushed the tangle of curls between her thighs and heard an animalistic growl before Harry was there, crushing her in his embrace, lifting her, and driving her back until she slammed none too gently against the wall. His lips captured hers in a kiss of pure carnal hunger. His tongue drove past her lips, plunging and retreating as his hand covered her, parting the damp curls. Her fingers. His. Together, he forced her to touch with him, to stroke against her throbbing nub before he pushed her hand aside and curled his fingers into her pulsing wetness.
“Ah, God,” Harry groaned, thrusting deeper.
Tearing her lips from his, Fiona gasped a thready cry against his parted lips. Harry was panting hard as well, his chest rocking against hers with the hard rhythm of his heart. His lips nipped at hers, his tongue tracing her lips and she moaned, kissing him again. Clutching his shoulders, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, urging him forward with a press of her heels until he ground his hips against hers.
“I want you,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Me, too.”
With a groan, he shrugged off his jacket and she helped him with eager hands, pushing it off before stripping him of his tie. Harry quickly worked the buttons of his shirt and Fiona gasped with delight as his hard, hot chest met hers. Frantic now, she unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them off his hips, but when the fiery length of him was bared, she lost all concern with total nudity.
“Now, Harry,” she begged. “Now.”
Harry cupped her bottom in one hand, lifting her against him. Fiona felt him nudge at her entrance then he thrust powerfully upward, slamming her against the wall with the force of his weight. Her cry of rapture was met by his low, triumphant moan. Lifting her legs high around his waist, she welcomed his possession, relishing the chafing of his chest over her breasts as he moved within her, his hot lips open over hers as their labored breath mingled.
He filled her so fully, she could feel it deep in her belly as he flexed his hips and pulled her hard against him. Over and over he drove into her, their passion as combustible as kerosene, and she was ablaze.
She threw her head back, crying out hoarsely as he owned her again and again in a pounding rhythm that sent the flames higher. Tension coiled in her core, hotter and more pleasurable than before. Fiona arched against him as the explosion came and she cried out his name in ecstasy.
“Harry! Harry!”
He thrust one last time and followed her into the fire. “Ah, my love.”
One hand stroked his damp back, the other fisted in his hair but Fiona was hardly aware of anything beyond the joining of their bodies. His big body pressed against hers from hip to chest, pinning her against the wall. It should have felt oppressive but she only felt euphoria, security…elation. There was something terribly empowering about having a man want you so badly that he lost all control.
She pressed her lips against his warm, damp neck with a sigh of bliss. “Mmm, that was nice.”
Harry chuckled softly as he bent his head to nuzzle her ear. “Merely nice?”
Fiona breathed out a puff of laughter, hugging him against her. “Very nice.”
“An understatement, I should say.”
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he carried her back to the sofa, pausing only to kick off his shoes, trousers, and stockings before he sat without breaking the bond between them. Straddling him, she leaned forward, stroking her hands over his chest as she smiled down at him.
Tousled, sensual, Aylesbury marveled again at her beauty and at the strength of will that had channeled all her fears and worries into passion for him. Marveled at her tender touch, that ability to rouse him again so easily with such a simple caress.
“You are so incredible,” he whispered softly, running his hands up her back and drawing her forward for his kiss.
His tongue teased at her lips, leisurely caressing then deeply exploring. Fiona hummed with approval,
tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss. Her hair fell over his hands and teased his thighs. He raked his finger down her back once more and grasped her hips, pulling her down as he arched his hips against her. She rotated her hips, seating herself more fully as he stirred within her, filling her once more.
“Really?” she whispered against his lips, her eyes meeting his with surprise. Her hum becoming a purr of delight.
“You aren’t exactly reluctant.”
He cupped her silken breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers before lowering his head. Stroking his tongue lightly across the hardened tip, he then drew on it, suckling deeply. Fiona keened in pleasure, arching her back and threading her fingers through his hair to clasp him to her. Her thighs widened and she began a slow rotation of her hips against his.
Turning his attention to her other breast, his hands began to roam over her lithe body, admiring the athletic grace of her supple limbs. Her full, firm breasts. Her sleek muscled thighs and slim hips that moved against him building his passions once more. With the fervent urgency of their first mating contained to embers, he took his time in stoking the fires again. Letting her set the pace.
“Harry?” she whispered as if wondering at his leisure.
“This time is yours, my love. Take it. Control it. Control me.” Fiona’s eyes widened at his words but narrowed in amusement when he added, “If you can, that is.”
A dimple flashed in her cheek as she met his gaze, holding it as she swiveled her hips once more, arching against him. “Like this?” Triumph blazed in those green depths but Harry couldn’t have held back the throaty growl that escaped him if his life had depended on it. “Or like this?” She undulated against him, stroking him like a velvet glove.
“My God, what did Moira give you to read?” he asked hoarsely.
“Perhaps I will share it with you one day,” she teased and leaned forward to whisper devilishly in his ear. “It has pictures.”
Aylesbury groaned again, digging his fingers into her hips as he leaned his head back against the sofa in surrender. “Why would I need a picture when I have you? My God, but you’re beautiful.” From beneath heavy lids, he watched her move unhurriedly over him, every torturous stroke firing his blood as he strained for control. Waiting for her pleasure, watching as it darkened her eyes. Lips parted, she gasped never taking her eyes from his.
Their lips met again and his hands dove into her hair, holding her lips to his, her eyes to his as their tongues played. Every breath exhaled in a soft gasp, a moan, until her enraptured cries drove him over the edge, until his blood was pounding in his ears. With a low growl, he grasped her hips and lifted her before urging her back down, surging deeply within her. Fiona’s eyes widened with understanding and delight and she repeated the motion, lifting herself then taking him deeper and deeper as she contracted around him. Then her pace hastened.
“Yes. Oh, yes,” she gasped as he urged her on, cupping her bottom to lift and release. She tightened around him, her body tensing.
Dropping down hard on him, Fiona cried out her release, her thighs quivering. Aylesbury lifted her again and brought her down as he bowed against her and she screamed hoarsely, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
Her release triggered his, sending a maelstrom of ecstasy surging through him as he peaked, flooding her with his hot seed. Fiona collapsed against his chest and he wrapped her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her cheek and to the top of her head.
“You are everything to me, Fiona. Everything. God, how I love you,” he said huskily, almost inaudibly.
I love you.
Such inadequate words to describe what he felt. Love did not seem to encompass the raw emotion that enflamed his heart. She was so very alive, and she demanded the same from him. Every moment. The euphoria, the obsession, the need, the want. The laughter, the companionship, the challenge.
Chapter 35
God forgive me for I know not what I am bloody well doing!
~From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh—May 1895
“Harry, I…I…”
Fiona stumbled for a response, tensing in his embrace. There was so much she wanted to say to him.
“Shh,” he whispered, brushing his lips against the top of her head. “There is nothing to say. Just let me hold you. I might have lost truly you today if things had gone differently.”
“But it did not.”
“But it may have.” He lifted her head so that he might meet her eyes. “What would I do?” he asked, giving a voice to the very thoughts she had had of him. “Please do not put yourself in such danger again. I love you too much to lose you. By the way, I have something for you.”
Lifting her off his lap, Aylesbury looked around for and found his jacket, searching the breast pocket before turning back to her. “This is not the setting I had imagined in which to present it. I had pictured a quiet corner at the Ritz, perhaps, but I will have to take opportunity where I can.”
“What is it?” she asked, curious despite herself.
He settled her back into his lap and opened his hand to reveal a ring set with a yellow diamond as big as her thumbnail encircled by tiny pearls and silver filigree. Fiona’s eyes widened with surprise and leapt back to his.
He shrugged casually. “I cannot say all that I might have wished to, as I made you a promise not to ask again.”
“In all fairness, you never asked.” Fiona looked back at the gorgeous ring with a mischievous smile. “Since I haven’t been asked and therefore been denied the chance to say yes or no, I don’t really know what I would say in any case.”
He closed his hand over the ring, nonplused. “I did ask. Several times, in fact.”
“No,” she countered, shaking her head. “I heard a lordly statement or two. A near command but no questions requiring a yes or a no.”
“Is that what you’re waiting for? A grand proposal? Shall I drop to a knee right now?”
She laughed, catching him by the shoulders before he could drop her on the floor and fall dramatically at her feet. “Not if you want me to say yes.”
“Is there a situation where you would?”
“Perhaps.” Fiona chewed her lip uncertainly. “It might not be while we are sitting naked in your parlor or…Harry, what if I can’t ever say yes?”
Despite the lack of affirmation, he liked how she phrased it. It sounded far more positive than if she had asked “What if I say no?”
“Then I guess we will just set a record for London’s longest engagement…and hope that my heir isn’t born someday on the wrong side of the blanket,” he added under his breath. “That would be difficult to explain to your brothers.” He held up the ring once more. “Will you wear it?”
“But I still have not agreed to marry you.”
“Did I ask?” he teased, taking up her right hand and slipping the ring on her finger. “Keep it safe here for me, won’t you? It holds no significance there other than a reminder of me, a reminder that I love you and want a future.”
With her.
Running her fingers through his black hair, Fiona bit back a smile.
“You’ll have to give up your beaux, of course.”
She widened her eyes in mock surprise but answered truthfully, hoping her admission might silently convey what she couldn’t yet put into words. “I have no beaux but you, Harry,” she said sincerely before the devil in her took hold. “I like them very much, of course, but perhaps no more than you cared for Abby and Moira once upon a time. I love Temple as a brother and Lord Harrowby like a far distant cousin.”
He smacked her bottom with a grimace. “You are never allowed to speak to him again. I won’t have my wife lusting after another man.”
“You don’t own me, Harry Brudenall! I’m not your wife!” Her eyes narrowed on him. “Did you just basically admit to lusting after Moira? Don’t look at me like that! You’re the one who said the word, not me. I never said I lusted after Harrowby even if he is as big and gorgeous as a Viking lor
d and has thighs as–”
With a groan, he pulled her into his arms again and silenced her with a kiss.
“Would you truly think to control me, Harry? To tell me what I can and cannot do?”
She pulled away, watching him from beneath her lashes to gauge his response. It was one thing she had never thought to discuss with him. If she were to marry him—in truth she was doing more than merely considering it—would he give her the freedom to be who she was or would he use his rights as her husband to rein her in? Would expect her to be a proper lady as so many aristocrats did?
“Of course not. I was simply teasing.”
“What if I wanted to play golf more often than not?”
“I would do my best to become a better opponent,” he told her, then glanced down at her with dawning comprehension in his eyes. “A far more serious question than it seems, yes? You are asking if I would begrudge you your amusements…if you were my wife. I wouldn’t do that.”
Still, Fiona pursed her lips skeptically. “What if I were to make a career of it, like Miss Pearson?”
“I would never bar you from achieving your ambitions,” he assured her. “Your passion for life is one of the things I love most about you. If it is your aspiration to play professionally, I will applaud your efforts at every green. If it is your greater ambition to travel the globe and play at a different course each week, I suppose I would have to buy a yacht as I abhor the services aboard the larger ships.”
Smiling up at him, she felt the one thing she knew she had been lacking amid the love for Harry blossoming in her heart. Hope. Trust. Perhaps she could have the one thing she had always longed for in life without losing herself along the way.
“If I wanted to rally with the suffragettes?”
“I would gladly paint your signs for you,” he said promptly.
Her dimples flashed, pleased with his answer. “If I wanted to smoke a cigarette?”
He offered a playful grimace. “I should compel you to try cigars instead.”
Laughter bubbled up in her and she snuggled against his bared chest, adoring the feel of her flesh pressed against his. “What if I took to wearing trousers each day?”
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