He dragged his mouth along her throat and the heat traveled all the way down to her toes. “Feeling cleaner?”
“Inside and out.”
Lifting his head, he captured and held her gaze. “Stay like that. Never let him inside you again.”
“I won’t. You make me feel invincible. You make me feel treasured.”
“Because you are. You have so much to give, so much to offer.”
“I want to give to you tonight.”
Groaning low, he buried his face in the curve of her neck. “With such ease, you bring me to my knees.”
“It’s because of your position in the tub.”
When he lifted his head, he was grinning and cradled her face with one large and very wet hand. “You’re nervous.”
“A little. You know the worst about me and yet still you’re here.”
“Because I also know the best about you, and it far outweighs the worst.” This time when he took her mouth, he took possession of her heart as well.
He accepted her as she was. Her past didn’t matter. With him she didn’t have to pretend or put on airs or strive to meet expectations. It was what she’d always wanted, an honesty with a gentleman. And here she had it.
As his hands skimmed over her, she thought, yours, yours, yours.
As she glided her hands over his broad chest and wide shoulders, she thought, mine, mine, mine.
Then she shivered because as warm as he was, the water had grown colder. Immediately he noticed and drew back. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He went first, not bothering to hide his perfection from her as he reached for a towel. As she shoved herself to her feet and the water sluiced over her, his eyes darkened, heated, and she felt like a nymph who’d captured the attentions of a god. As she stepped out of the tub, he draped the soft linen around her and began patting it gently over her, gathering up all the drops. Going down to one knee, he saw to her legs and feet and she combed her fingers through his hair, awed that he would humble himself so before her, would see to her needs before his own.
“You must be cold,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
When he was finished, he grabbed another towel and wrapped it around her, while he briskly rubbed the first over his skin, not bothering to take the same care with his body that he’d taken with hers. The entire time his gaze remained latched on to hers. His actions slowed, stopped, the towel clutched in one hand where ribs gave way to stomach, the linen trailing down covering his most vulnerable areas, providing him with a modicum of modesty.
“Fancy, my intention truly was to only bathe you, to show you that what makes you Fancy Trewlove hasn’t changed. I won’t fault you if you’d rather I dress myself and walk out of here now.”
With a smile she released her hold on her towel, acutely aware of its journey along the short length of her body until it pooled at her feet on the floor, noting how his hand fisted more tightly around his towel, his knuckles turning white. Reaching out, she threaded her fingers through his unoccupied hand and began leading him toward her bed.
Although he’d offered, with all good intentions, to walk out if she wished, he hadn’t been sure how he’d accomplish that action when his body was straining with the need to be with her, to bury itself in her, to hear her cries as passion rode her. As she pulled him from the bathing chamber, he released his death grip on the towel and padded after her.
Never in his life had it seemed so important that he get it right, that he make it perfect—for her.
As they neared the bed, she let go of his hand, reached up, and began plucking the pins from her hair. His gut tightened as the waves of black silk cascaded around her shoulders, along her back, halting just shy of the dimple in her backside. Plowing his hand through the satiny tresses, he stopped her from climbing onto the bed, turned her around, tilted back her head, and settled his mouth over hers as though it belonged there. And damned if it didn’t feel as though it did.
But then it had felt that way from the very first time they’d kissed. Everything with her always seemed right, seemed new and yet familiar.
Falling against him, she wound one arm around his neck, carried the other on a journey around his back as though she wanted him as close to her as he had an urge to be. She was warm softness from head to toe. While her skin didn’t squeak as he dragged his hands over it, she felt untouched, pure, pristine, a goddess bestowing her attentions on a mere mortal. He’d never felt more humbled, more undeserving of something so exquisite. But he wasn’t fool enough to give up and not work to be deserving. Especially when she was no shy miss but was taking her tongue on a journey that mapped out every nook and crevice of his mouth while still managing to occasionally return for a slow seductive waltz with his tongue.
She had no timidity about her when it came to any aspect of her life. Her passions guided her, and they’d led her into his embrace. He couldn’t have been more grateful.
Lifting her into his arms, he placed her on the bed and followed her down.
It was wickedly wonderful to be tucked up beneath a man’s body as he stroked and caressed sensitive areas that she’d never before realized were aching for a man’s touch. The underside of her breasts, the expanse of her back, the inside of her thighs, the back of her knees. He was tall with long arms that could reach so much of her without having to stretch. Although it no doubt helped that when he went for her calf, she bent her leg so a portion of it rested against his hip, giving him easier access. They moved in tandem, each seeming to instinctually know what the other required. She’d never known such fulfillment, such an intense sense of belonging with another.
Oh, she belonged with her family, had never doubted that, but this was an entirely different level of acceptance, of discovering where she fitted, and she fit against him perfectly. And she knew that all their encounters from the moment he’d strode into her bookshop had been leading her toward this. Want. Need. Satisfaction.
Every other man she’d met had failed to make her even think about leaping onto a bed with him, but with Matthew the desire had always been hovering, just beneath surface, teasing and taunting. Here, at last, it was coming to fruition.
Once more his hand trailed down her thigh, beneath her knee, back up. Only this time, it went higher, took a detour, and his deft fingers parted her folds, stroked the tender flesh. She relaxed into the passion. She knew how the quest would end and had no reservations regarding where he would lead her.
“You’re so wet,” he rasped. “So ready for me.” He slid his finger inside her, and lovely sensations swamped her. “And so damned tight.”
“Is all of that good?”
She felt his smile against the curve of her neck. “All of that is wonderful.”
Shifting until he was nestled between her thighs, he kissed the underside of her chin, her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts. Then he took her mouth even as he took her body, pushing into her slowly, gently, giving her time to adjust as her body stretched to accommodate him. She dug her fingers into his back, scraped them along his spine. When he was fully seated inside her, she wrapped her legs around him, held him.
He began to move, just short strokes at first, and then they lengthened, coming faster, with more purpose, more intensity. She felt the pleasure begin to swell, from where they were joined, outward to the tips of her fingers, the tips of her toes, even to the ends of her hair. Her cries mingled with his grunts, and she thought no symphony would ever sound as sweet.
Frantically her hands moved over him, over shoulders, arms, back, neck. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, needed more, as he plowed and she met him thrust for thrust. His mouth never leaving hers, he took the kiss deeper, as deep as her body was taking him.
Every nerve ending, every muscle tightened. An explosion of sensations ripped through her. Screaming his name, she clung to him, aware of his body tightening, his back bowing. He broke free of the kiss, his feral groan echoing around her, as he went still before co
llapsing on top of her and burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.
Chapter 22
Fancy didn’t know why she was at this blasted ball, striving to prove that Dibble held no sway over her decisions, when ironically she was only in attendance because of her misguided need to demonstrate what required no demonstration. Yesterday her sire had dominated her thoughts and today she’d thought of little else save Matthew and how it had felt to be held in his arms.
She hadn’t seen him since he’d crept out of her residence near midnight, and she missed him terribly. Because no classes were being held tonight, she hadn’t seen him before leaving for the ball, and there had been an unexpected emptiness in her chest. She wanted to ask how his day had gone, wanted to sit in a chair reading with him across from her, wanted to share his meal, wanted his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin.
She was always striving to prove her worth to the people crowded into this grand salon. With Matthew, she’d never had anything to prove. He accepted her as she was.
And she accepted him. His kindness to Dickens. His slipping coins to barefoot children on the street. Embracing her desire to spread reading to those who had never known it. His determination to see her sire imprisoned. His comforting of her during her darkest hours. His ability to reach into her soul and heart to mend the cracks that threatened to shatter all.
Arriving here tonight, she knew she should have been impressed with all that surrounded her: gaiety, stunning gowns, and jewelry. Knew she should have been overjoyed when handsome gents asked her to dance. Within twenty minutes of her arrival, her dance card was filled with the names of lords who wanted to take her for a turn on the dance floor.
As she danced with Mr. Whitley, she realized she wanted more than a gentleman’s interest. She wanted his love. Whether the love came quickly or slowly, all that mattered was that the spark of it was there, so it could blossom into something remarkably fulfilling.
When she waltzed with Lord Wilbourne, she realized she was simply going through the motions, placing her feet where he led. There was no connection, no joy. Certainly, it was entertaining, but it was also lacking. She much preferred waltzing through her shop in the shadows.
She’d dreamed of a night like this, of having attention, of flirting, fluttering her eyelashes, blushing at compliments issued. She’d prepared for it since she was a little girl. Yet, somehow it paled, which made her feel guilty as Lord Wilbourne escorted her from the floor because the gentleman had wasted his time with her. This was not what she wanted. These men were not what she wanted. What she wanted was so much simpler, so much more rewarding: Matthew.
She’d barely taken a breath before Lord Beresford was at her side to claim his dance. “My lord.”
“You’ve been kept quite busy tonight.”
She smiled. A lady always smiled, no matter that her feet hurt, no matter that she wished to be elsewhere and would begin counting the minutes until she could leave. “It would appear so.”
“I know you favor books, Miss Trewlove. I wondered if you’d seen the Collinsworth library.”
“No, I’ve not had that pleasure.”
“Might you allow me to share it with you, rather than claim my dance? His lordship has a rare assortment of tomes I think you’d find intriguing.”
Her smile this time was genuine. “I would welcome a respite from dancing, words I never thought to utter. And you’ve definitely discovered my weakness. I can never say no to perusing books, ancient or otherwise. But is it acceptable for us to go into his library?”
“People wander through it all night. I would be honored to introduce you to it.”
“By all means, then. I’d be delighted to see it.”
He offered his arm, and she tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. She wondered briefly if Aslyn should accompany her, but if other people were about in the library, Lord Beresford couldn’t get up to any mischief.
As he led her up the stairs and into the hallway, she saw couples milling about, coming and going. A few acknowledged them with a nod or a smile, and she realized she was becoming more accepted. Men were now dancing with her; women were speaking with her. It seemed she was well on her way to winning them over, and yet it brought her little joy, not when her thoughts were occupied with a black-haired, green-eyed gentleman.
Beresford escorted her farther along the corridor. People were gazing at paintings or talking quietly. He turned down another hallway. No one was about, but that didn’t mean no one would be in time.
He opened a door, and she slipped into the room of shelves, books, and a musty fragrance. They were alone, but she wasn’t concerned, too enthralled by all the leather bindings. She didn’t think it was as large a library as Thorne’s, but it certainly housed a goodly amount of reading material.
“Over here,” Beresford said, leading her to a large open book that rested on a pedestal.
She approached with caution and reverence. “Oh my word.”
“The Gutenberg Bible.” His voice was low, near her ear.
“It’s beautiful.”
“There are very few remaining. It’s rare, Miss Trewlove. Like you.”
Her breath hitching, she glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s very kind of you to say so, but I’m not so rare.”
Lightly, he touched his fingers to her cheek. “But you are. And I would very much like to kiss you.”
Her gaze dropped to his lips. Not the correct plumpness, the correct shape. Not the ones she wanted pressed to hers. “That would be inappropriate, my lord.”
“Come, Miss Trewlove. We are alone. No one is to know. You are curious regarding what it might be like between us, surely.”
Three days ago, perhaps, but now she knew what she wanted. And it wasn’t an earl or a marquess or a duke. It was Matthew. “Please, don’t take offense, my lord, but actually, I’m not curious in the least.”
His brow furrowed. “That does not bode well for our marriage.”
Startled, she gave her head a little shake. “I don’t recall you asking for my hand.”
Grazing his knuckles along her cheek, his other hand landing solidly on her waist, he lowered his face until she felt his breath stirring tendrils of her hair. “But I shall, my sweet. You have won me over, Miss Trewlove. Where is the harm in a gentle pressing of our lips?”
Stunned by his declaration, she didn’t move fast enough when his mouth grazed over hers—
The click of a door had her jerking back her head. She wasn’t quite sure what she saw within the brown depths of his eyes: regret, satisfaction, embarrassment. An entire host of emotions seemed to be rolling through him as though he couldn’t quite decide what he should be feeling.
“Fancy?”
She recognized the voice. Mick. And he didn’t sound at all pleased. Placing her hands against Beresford’s chest, she shoved slightly and turned to face not only her brother but her brother-by-marriage and their host. She had a feeling that Beresford might not have been quite honest about people flitting in and out of the library. She suspected the group had sought refuge in here to get away from the crowd in order to enjoy a bit of scotch and private conversation.
“Lord Beresford was just sharing with me your wonderful rare Gutenberg Bible,” she said, wishing her tone didn’t sound as though she’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit tin.
“That’s not all he was showing you,” Mick barked. “Beresford, tomorrow afternoon, my office, two. We’ll sort this matter out.”
Beresford gave a sharp bow. “Of course.”
“We can sort it now,” Fancy announced. “Nothing untoward happened.” The touch of his lips barely even registered as a kiss.
“Tell them that.” Mick jerked his head forward.
She swung around. Oh, good Lord! At least half a dozen people were on the terrace gawking at them through the window. She was rather certain they hadn’t been there when they’d first entered the library, but she’d been so arrested by the rare book that she�
��d noticed very little except it.
Based on the way Beresford had positioned himself so she was blocked from their view, they no doubt thought he’d taken advantage and she’d let him. It was bad enough to be caught alone with him, but his nearness, his lowering of his head—
It wouldn’t take much imagination to expect the worst, and the aristocracy was not lacking in imagination.
Her reputation was ruined. Her standing, what little bit she’d managed to obtain, was crumbling. She had an awful feeling that Beresford might have intentionally placed her in this comprising position. He had to have known her family would have heard of this, had to have known where it would lead.
She was vaguely aware of his taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Until tomorrow, Miss Trewlove.”
“Lord Beresford.” As she watched him stride from the room, she realized with a bit of dread that she’d just bid farewell to her future husband.
“I’m assuming he used the lure of the Bible to get you alone,” Mick said, his voice low, laced with understanding and perhaps a bit of disappointment.
How could he not be disappointed when she’d mucked things up irrevocably? Beyond mortified and humiliated, Fancy was grateful for the dark confines of the carriage. “He said other people were touring the library. That it was done. I know I should have walked out when I saw no one else there, but it was a Guttenberg. I thought no harm would come from a quick look. And then suddenly he was so close, talking of marriage . . . I’m so sorry. I know I was foolish and reckless. I’ve ruined everything for which you and the others have worked so hard.”
Unless she married Beresford. Her brothers would ensure he did right by her. She was going to become part of the aristocracy but not in the manner she’d planned: because of a grand love.
“Our goal was to see you happy and well cared for. I’ve no doubt he could provide you with the sort of life Mum wished for you, but will he make you happy?”
The Earl Takes a Fancy Page 25