by Lee, Jade
“I have spent so much time thinking about our kiss,” she said. Her gaze settled on the distant moon. “We were teenagers, and every time you looked at me, I thought I would burn up. When we kissed, I felt like I’d become the sun.” She abruptly spun back to him. “For twelve years, I have been a good wife to Oscar. I never strayed and always acted for his best interest and that of his family. And yet on the night he died, I was in your arms. How could I do that? I think back to that moment and wonder what madness possessed me.”
“Diana.” He did not need a replaying of what they’d done. He’d already relived it a thousand times. He’d held her. That was all. But in his fantasies, they’d done so much more.
Her gaze cut straight to his. “You were the perfect gentleman, but I wanted…” She shook her head. “Such things that I wanted from you.”
He had been far from a gentleman in his thoughts. “You’d been attacked. It’s natural to want to feel alive again.”
She seemed to consider that. “Maybe. You do not understand the loneliness of my life. Years at the bedside of a dying husband with no companion except servants or the occasional hateful visits of his children. My family would try to visit, but I often put them off. I fought hard for respect because that was all I could hope for. Until you walked in.”
“I am here to protect you,” he said because that was the only honorable thing he could confess.
“And what of the tenderness I see in your eyes when you look at me? What of the need that burns there when you reach for me? Am I not allowed those things?”
“Of course, you are,” he said. “In time.” When the danger was past. When he could approach her with the reverence she deserved instead of the pounding lust that beat in him now.
She looked at him, her expression slowly shifting to disappointment. And how that cut at him. He couldn’t fail her again.
“Do you know what I did today?” she asked.
“After Lord and Lady Beddoe left?”
“Yes.”
“You spent the day inside resting.”
“Resting?” she scoffed. “You think I went to my bed and slept in pristine beauty? Am I a hothouse flower to you?”
He blinked. “You were inside. You were safe—”
“I was with the estate steward. We have been corresponding for years now, but there is so much more to be done face to face. Improvements to the tenant farms. A school for the children. Sheep and pigs and crops. That is what we discussed.”
“You and Nathan would get along famously.”
Her lips quirked. “Yes, I should very much like to talk with him.”
He nodded. He could arrange it once they were back in England.
“I spent my day as a man does, seeing to the needs of my tenants.” She looked to the ceiling. “Why shouldn’t I spend my evenings as a man does as well? Enjoying whatever pleasures are at hand.”
“Enough,” His voice became harsh as he took control of the situation. She’d had her say. Now it was his turn to bring her back to sanity. “You are speaking out of grief and guilt.”
“Am I?” she challenged.
“Of course, you are. It has been two weeks since your husband passed. You just buried him.”
“It has been years, Lucas. Oscar took to his bed years ago.” Her voice throbbed with those words. “We knew he was dying. And though there were good days, he was never a husband to me after that. More like a fond uncle. And now, finally, I am free.”
“You want everything. Every experience, every indulgence, things you have been denied up until now.”
“Yes!”
He arched a brow. “Have a care, Diana. Not every experience is pleasurable. And too much—”
“Do not lecture me. I am done with being told what I can and cannot do.”
He didn’t intend to lecture her. But he certainly wasn’t going to stand around and allow her to be self-destructive. “Do you know what you want to do first?” And with whom? That was the main question, but he didn’t voice it.
Her chin lifted. “You know I do.” And when he didn’t respond, she rolled her eyes. “I told you I was thinking of you.”
He took a breath, his mind running quickly through the risks and dangers. He had seen no danger, heard no hint of betrayal, nothing untoward. He or his men checked her food, watched her drink, and stood guard. She was as safe as it was possible to be. And she would be that much safer if he were in the room, though every man was vulnerable when absorbed in a beautiful woman.
Then he looked at Diana. He saw the need in her for an experience—any experience—that was for her and her alone. Her pleasure, her entertainment, her delight.
He took a breath. Was he really going to do this? Apparently so, because he spoke softly after making sure her door was locked.
“Have you ever experienced a woman’s quickening?”
She frowned and shook her head. “I’m not sure what that is.”
“You would know.”
Her brows lifted in interest.
“Do you trust your maid and cook? They will tell no one?” He knew his own men wouldn’t dare breathe a word.
She nodded. “They will keep my secrets.”
He licked his lips, his heart thundering. “Even so, you must try to be silent.”
“I understand.” And when he still didn’t move, she huffed out a breath. “Do you intend to talk about it all night long? Or shall we—”
She spoke no more because he was already kissing her.
Chapter Twenty
Diana loved his kisses. She loved the way he looked at her—all brooding intensity—but when she finally broke his reserve enough to let the passion free? Well, then every caress, every taste, every second, was filled with his hunger for her. Her! She fought daily for every scrap of respect from her world. His complete adoration was intoxicating. She didn’t have to gauge her words with him. She didn’t have to moderate her emotions or calculate her actions. She simply felt and responded without consequence, and in that freedom, she found her own bliss.
It started with a kiss. Quick and sure, he caught her body and her mouth in the exact same instant. She tensed in surprise, but that didn’t last long. As he thrust into her mouth, she arched into his arms. Then he explored her lips, her tongue, and her teeth with the thoroughness of a man intent on leaving no part of her untouched.
She allowed it. She gloried in it. And then she grew bold enough to touch him back. She gripped his back muscles that bulged with strength and stroked her fingers across the curve of his bottom. She had no fear of hurting him no matter how wild her passions. More, she trusted him to keep her safe within the confines of his shelter.
His clothes frustrated her, so she pushed at them, worming her hands between buttons and beneath fabric. He let her strip away his shirt, but he demanded more as he pushed her dressing gown off her shoulders, then gripped the bottom of her nightrail. He drew it off her in a single sweeping movement. She emerged from the volume of fabric with a gasp, then shook her hair away from her face. It was already wild, and she pulled out the tie so that not even her braid would restrain her.
He helped her, running his hands through her hair to loosen the plait. His gaze was rapt, and she smiled as she watched him. No one had ever looked at her as he did. No one thought even her wild curls worthy of anything more than a passing glance.
And while he stroked his hands through her hair, she let her fingers explore his broad shoulders and chest. She saw scars there. A small c-shaped cut near his collarbone, another jagged rip below his right nipple. The more she looked, the more she saw other signs of damage. And she touched every one, including the most obvious one along his face near his ear.
“So many hurts,” she whispered.
He turned his head enough to press a kiss into her palm. “I was hurt badly at Waterloo. Most of these are from there.”
His words didn’t come close to describing the damage suggested by every single mark on his body. She’d known about his
hand, of course, and the scar on his face. But all of this? There was no part of his body untouched. “I can’t believe you survived all this.”
“Cuts heal,” he said as he lifted her face until they locked gazes. “I don’t even notice the scars anymore.”
She grabbed his maimed hand and pulled it to her mouth. “I see only you,” she said and pressed her lips into his palm. “And every part of you is glorious.”
She meant it, but he didn’t seem to hear it. Instead, he trailed his mouth along the curve of her neck. He nipped at her shoulders as he stroked his free hand down her back. She arched, letting him support her as she stretched herself along his body.
“It’s the fever that saved me,” he said.
She was so absorbed in how easily he held her that she didn’t at first hear his words. And when she did, they didn’t make sense. “That cannot be,” she said as he gently set her down on the bed. He came with her because she would not release him. And as he pressed his forearm into the mattress beside her head, she took his mouth, tasting him as he had her.
He let her, he opened for her, but only for a little bit. All too soon, he broke from her hold to look at her as he stroked her face, her hair, and even the curve of her ear.
“I had fever dreams of you just like this. So beautiful in my arms. Your hair spread out around you.” His gaze followed the curls that he coiled around his fingers. “I dreamed about your face and about your body.” He smiled. “Such things we did in France.”
She stroked across his jaw. “I am no imaginary woman,” she said. And to prove it, she pulled him down for another kiss. She tempted him as much as she knew how. She thrust into his mouth, she dug her fingers into his shoulders, and she did all the things she’d never dared before. She took what she wanted and demanded his response.
He was more than up to the challenge. While she possessed his mouth, his hands began to stroke her breasts. He began gently, but as she reacted, pushing herself against him, he grew bolder. He kneaded her flesh and pinched her nipples. And when their mouths separated to breathe, he moved lower on her body until he could take her nipple into his mouth. Soon sensation overwhelmed her, and she moaned with need.
He took his time while she writhed. He was stronger, heavier, and very sure of himself as he played with her breasts. And it was playing for him, she abruptly realized, because when he lifted up to look at her, his face was pulled into a wolfish grin. He loved it when she had so little control of her body.
She wanted to say something. She wanted to ask, “What happens now?” Because already, this was so much more than anything she had ever experienced. But she had no breath, and she doubted he would answer anyway. Instead, he reached above her head and grabbed a pillow. When she frowned at him, he gently pressed it into her hand.
“Use this when it becomes too much.”
“What?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he moved down her body, pressing kisses onto the underside of her breast, her belly, and then to the junction between thigh and hip. She felt his hands stroke down her sides to cup her bottom. And then he slid lower—down the backs of her thighs—until he gripped just above the backs of her knees.
His mouth was already at an intimate place, and she was more than willing to accept his cock. Indeed, she wanted to feel the fullness of him stretch her. There would be such strength in his thrust.
He pulled her legs wide, but it wasn’t his cock that found her entrance. It was his mouth and tongue. This was no blunt object ramming into her, but a dance that probed into her, stroked her, then teased and sucked while he shredded her composure. Never had she felt such things. Never had she realized how electric her body could feel. How sensations could pile one on top of the other while her belly coiled and her breath caught.
She tightened her knees as she tried to draw back. He shifted his grip on her legs until he pushed her knees wider. And while she lay fully exposed, he feasted on her everywhere. No part of her was left untouched, no place forgotten.
Then he found a place that shot lightning through her body. Over and over, he kissed her, his tongue doing things she couldn’t even process. She was all feeling then, all gasping need.
Then he pulled back. He stopped everything while she still writhed, waiting for something. He grabbed the pillow, still clutched in her hand. He pressed it gently toward her face.
“Scream, beautiful Diana. Scream loud.”
She wasn’t going to scream. She was a lady who never raised her voice.
He must have understood her thoughts. Likely read the expression on her face. But instead of being insulted, he looked smug.
“You will,” he said. And then he gently urged her to put her face into the pillow.
She didn’t. She wouldn’t. But just then, his thumb thrust upward across that spot. It was a sharp feeling at a place that had begun to cool down, and his movement startled a soft cry from her.
“You will,” he repeated, and then he knelt down again. He put his mouth between her thighs. He thrust fingers into her, in and out of her slick center. She arched into the feel. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was delightful enough that she stopped trying to anticipate. No need to do more than feel, to learn, and to…to…
Oh, yes.
His mouth on that spot again. His fingers deep inside her. And all was, yes, yes! Please! She whimpered. She gasped. And yes, she even put the pillow over her face because of the sounds she was making.
Then he stroked her in earnest. He pushed, sucked, and whatever else he did took her over. The coil inside her tightened unbearably. Harder. Then it burst.
Ecstasy.
Did she scream? She didn’t know. So consumed was she in the waves of pleasure—joy bursting in waves that crashed through her.
She was amazed.
Chapter Twenty-One
She was still floating as he gathered her up. She helped him a little, but truthfully, she felt too boneless to do more than lie there in languid delight as he held her. Plus, it was fun to feel his strength as he effortlessly maneuvered her beneath the covers.
And when she was finally settled, she frowned at the pillow he casually tossed aside. “I think I screamed.”
“Yes.”
Such smugness in the one word. She didn’t mind. He deserved all the credit for that, and she was very grateful.
She raised her hand and caressed his jaw. She realized that she was tracing the line of his scar. How close had he come to dying? How many times? Whatever had caused this could have killed him. A few inches difference, and he would be dead. But that was nothing to the fever. She knew infection often killed more after the battle than during it. And yet he had survived it all.
“You astound me,” she whispered.
He ducked his head, and it startled her enough to laugh. Was this the man who had just grinned at her with smug satisfaction? Now he was embarrassed? To cover, he pressed his lips to her hand while his hair fell to hide his expression.
“It was my pleasure,” he said gruffly.
“I’m fairly certain it was mine,” she said. Then she gently extricated her hand such that she could turn his face to hers. “Was that a quickening?”
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
Now that cocky grin returned. “I like being your first.”
He was her first kiss, her first quickening, and her first and only love. But she wasn’t ready to tell him that. Not yet. Not before she understood what that meant for her life. Would she take him as a lover? Would she wed him? He was an incredible gift as he settled beside her on the bed. He sat with his back to the headboard as she adjusted to lay in his arms. Would he still do that with her after they took vows? Or would he disappear in search of new ladies to entertain?
Questions ate into her bliss despite everything she did to shove them away. For once, she did not want to strategize for her survival. She wanted to stay in this happy place.
“Kiss me,” she said.
He did. He kissed her
with the intense passion that she relished because it spoke of his need for her. But then he ended it, pulling away while hunger still burned in his eyes.
“Lucas?”
“I will not do more, Diana. Please do not tempt me.”
“But—”
“No. You have had your first quickening. Is that not enough for you?”
Of course it was enough for her. She had been surviving for so long on so little that tonight’s experience felt like enough happiness to fill an entire life. But she wasn’t thinking about herself. She knew that men needed their release.
“I don’t understand you, Lucas. Why won’t you take what I freely offer?”
“Because it’s too soon.”
She lifted her head, the joy in her body fading as she faced yet another man who tried to tell her what was best for her. “You think you know better than I?” she asked, her voice silky-smooth.
He arched a brow, clearly hearing the warning in her tone. “Diana—”
“Why do you think you can tell me how to behave? Have I not proven I can survive? That I can stand when everyone else wants me to crawl?”
“Diana!” he said, his voice exasperated. “You have done that and more. Of course.”
“Then—”
“I have my own honor,” he said, his voice rough. “War stripped everything from me. My title was not proof against the resentment of my own men. My skills were not enough to stop artillery. My body was not strong enough to keep fighting when my men still needed me. And I could not stop my parents from declaring me dead and being grateful for the loss.”
She blew out a breath. “That’s not true.” At least it wasn’t for his father. His mother clearly had a favorite child, and it wasn’t Lucas.
He brushed her words away. “When I lay shivering with fever, not knowing if I lived or died, one question kept plaguing me.”
She held her tongue, waiting for whatever he was struggling to express. And while she waited, she settled differently on the bed such that she was still touching him, but she could now see his face clearly.