A Gentleman Never Tells (22 page)

His thumb brushed against her curls at last, and a gust of air released from her lungs.

His chuckle warmed the skin of her throat. “You liked that, did you?”

“Yes,” she said. “Oh yes.”

His thumb brushed her again, delicate and deliberate, until she thought she might perhaps go mad; she strained against him, desperate for more. He began to probe with exquisite care, working his way between the folds of her flesh, parting her, sliding so slowly along the slickness of her lips within that she threw back her head and cried out. “Hush,” he said, pressing kisses into her neck. “Be patient, darling. Let it come to you.”

How could she be patient, when his thumb was so maddeningly slow? How could she hush and wait, when his thumb at last reached the bundle of nerves at her core and began to circle it, as if they had all the time in the world, as if she weren’t bursting from her skin? How could she not simply explode, as he increased the pressure and the rhythm and then backed away, over and over, knowing exactly when she approached each brink, reading every nuance of her body with fine precision.

“Please,” she sobbed, rubbing her cheek against his rough wet hair. “Please, Roland.”

He drew his thumb away, and it was like the sun slipping behind the mountains. She gave a bereft little cry and opened her eyes. He gazed down at her, smiling, lifting his thumb to his mouth and tasting her.

“Roland,” she said, “I’m going to die, right now, right
now . . .”

“Trust me.”

His hand moved to her buttocks, cupping them, and then slid along her thighs to her knees. “Swim for me,” he said, lifting her legs up to his shoulders, one by one, easing her torso against the tender lap of the water. She shivered at the loss of contact, at the anticipation of the next. Her arms swayed in the water, keeping her afloat. He would take her now; he would thrust inside her at last; he would . . .

Her body jumped out of the water with an inarticulate
Oh God!
as his mouth descended between her legs, so hot and lush she felt her insides melt and rush toward his waiting lips. He held one knee firmly with his hand; the other hand he placed in the center of her back, supporting her, as his tongue swept her hidden flesh with velvet strokes. Cool water lapped against them, mingling with his heated mouth, making her gasp and cry out and shudder, outside her own body with the pleasure engulfing her. His tongue began to work at her exposed bud, flicked back and forth in a relentless rhythm, and she could not stop saying his name, could not stop the waves of release. They crested and broke and ran down her body, until the only thing keeping her afloat was Roland’s hands, Roland’s arms, Roland’s unyielding shoulders beneath her legs.

*  *  *

H
e thought he might die from the sight of her.

She came and came, contracting in ripples against his tongue, her heady musk rich in his nose and her voice crying his name into the evening air. Before him, the gentle slope of her ripening belly merged with the fullness of her breasts, and her long wet hair tangled with his hand underneath her back. She lay helpless with release atop the water, trusting everything to him.

He remained still, knees bent, feet planted solidly on the lake bottom, letting her body drift down from the peak in its own time. With his hands he supported her, kept her head above the surface, kept her sweet quim just at the waterline, where the lapping waves would meet the dying aftershocks of her climax. He ignored his body’s urgent shout to take the magnificent woman laid out before him; this was their wedding night, their true joining, and he wanted everything perfect for her.

At last her arms began to move, waving in the water. She reached for him, and he helped her upright, covering her cooling flesh with his own before she had a chance to shiver. She buried her head at the base of his neck. “I won’t ask where you learned how to do that.”

He kissed her hair, smoothing away the dripping tangles. “In my dreams, sweetheart. You’ve sentenced me to more lonely hours in my bed than I care to remember. I think I’ve plotted out every last possible detail, by now.”

A soft gurgle of laughter. “Oh, well said.”

He put his hands to her cheeks and lifted her head. “You don’t believe me?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You’re mine now. I believe
that
.” She moved her hips against his, and this time he couldn’t resist her. Even in the cool embrace of the water, his cock was hard and huge with need; the nudge of her body against his engorged flesh knocked away the last tenacious remnants of his self-control.

He kissed her, long and deep. His hands slid down her neck and sides to her bottom; he lifted her buoyant body and positioned it above the eager tip of his staff. With a soft groan he pulled his mouth from hers and met her gaze. Her lips were open, her eyes half-closed; she was breathing in shallow little gasps, grinding downward against him.

“Are you certain?” he managed. “Because I can’t . . . Lilibet, this is final. We can’t go back . . .”

Her hands gripped his waist and pulled him to her. “Yes. Yes! For God’s
sake
, don’t stop!”

Slowly he eased himself inside her. The slick channel clasped him like a fist, hot and snug where the water had been cool and light. His arms shook; his fingers dug into her skin. “Lilibet,” he groaned, and with a final thrust he was buried fully within her body, joined with her in the most intimate way, the pulse in his neck throbbing like a dynamo against hers.

She wrapped her legs around him, securing herself on his cock; her hands traveled up his chest to his face, slipping into his hair, and kneaded his scalp. She laughed aloud. “Oh, God, Roland. It’s really you. It’s really
us
.” She stretched her neck backward, dipping her hair in the water behind her, offering her breasts up to him. He bent his head to suckle one dark peak and then the other, rotating her hips in a corkscrew motion, until she gasped and shivered, straining against him, urging him deeper.

He lifted his head and began to thrust in a heavy rhythm, unable to contain himself any longer. She responded at once, coordinating her movements with his, meeting the plunge of his cock with the push of her hips between his hands. The water rushed and eddied about them, creating resistance and friction even as it lightened her body, making him reach and grasp to bring her back for each plunge. It had been too long; he was too desperate. Release began to push past the iron bands of his self-control, and he freed one hand from her hip to circle the little bud just above their joined flesh with the broad pad of his thumb.

Her body jumped against his. She gave a throaty cry and ground down against him, fighting against the water to quicken the rhythm. Her heels dug into his back, anchoring her as she met his thrusts with such vigor, such passion, he thought he might burst with joy. He squeezed his eyes, concentrating, finding the exact movement of his thumb and his cock to please her, and in that instant she reached her climax. She shuddered and collapsed against him, and in two quick thrusts his balls contracted, his release burst forth, and his shout echoed off the rocks and rippled across the lake.

EIGHTEEN

T
hey drifted against each other for some time, still joined, too replete to move. “Am I too heavy?” she whispered at last against his neck, and he shook his head.

“No, you’re perfect.” She felt his kiss against her hair, her temple. “Perfect, darling.” His voice was soft, hoarse.

She raised her head and laughed. “No, I’m not. Your legs are shaking.”

“Merely passion, darling. I’m as strong as an ox, I assure you.” He sounded just a bit defensive.

“Yes, with a lifeless heifer clinging to his hips.” Gently she eased herself away from him and felt him slide out of her in a slick rush. She was boneless, weightless in the water, her legs floating inexorably to the surface until she forced them downward to grip the pebbled lake bottom with her toes. She reached up and kissed his smiling mouth. “Mine,” she said.

“Yours.” He nibbled at her lips. “Let’s get you out of the water, shall we? Before your skin turns a most unsightly prunelike texture.”

“Bite your tongue. I’m a legendary beauty. My skin never wrinkles.”

They scrambled and staggered to shore, bodies still wobbly from the intensity of union. He dried her with his shirt, dressed her, did her buttons; she helped him with his trousers and jacket. “Your shirt’s quite soaked,” she said, holding it up before him.

“No one will notice. Come along.” He took her by the hand and led her into the olive trees.

“Where are we going?”

“My room.”

They stole up the terraces, hand in hand, pausing only when a dark figure crossed their path at the bottom of the peach orchard. “Wallingford or Burke, probably,” whispered Roland, “looking for your cousins.”

“Really? He didn’t seem tall enough. One of the villagers, I expect, taking the short way home.”

The courtyard was still full, the band still playing. They crept around the edge of the torchlight and slipped through the door and up the stairs. She paused by the door to her room.

“Don’t worry.” He tugged at her hand. “Francesca’s there. He’s quite all right.”

“She’ll worry, if I don’t return.”

“I expect she’ll figure things out. Come along.”

She followed the pull of his hand down the hall, her feet slapping softly against the stone floor, until they reached the west wing and Roland’s door.

Inside, he lit a single candle, and without a word, without even a kiss, unwrapped her clothes from her body and carried her to the bed. “Rest,” he said, drawing up the blankets around her. “We leave at dawn.”

She burrowed herself into the mattress, inhaling the clean scents of linen and Roland, the trace of his soap still on the pillow. He undressed before her, without the slightest hint of self-consciousness, slinging his jacket and trousers over the chair, and then dropped into the bed next to her and gathered her close.

By necessity, in fact: The bed was quite narrow.

She lay there a moment, eyes closed, not quite believing she was in Roland’s room, Roland’s bed, his hard body molded around her and his arm across her waist. His thumb fiddled with her nipple and she laughed.

“What is it?”

She turned in his arms and drank in the sight of his face, inches from her own. “You really expect me to drop right off to sleep? Just like that?”

“Why not?” He smiled intimately and rested his hand along her hip. “You should be exhausted, by God.”

“So should you.” She couldn’t resist touching him, couldn’t resist the luxury of lifting her hand to caress the side of his face. She ran her fingers along the slope of his cheekbone, the firm line of his jaw, the tiny lines etched his forehead. “But you’re not, are you? You’re worried.”

He turned his face to kiss her palm. “No more than any groom on his wedding night.”

“Don’t hide from me, Roland. Don’t pretend. You may have the rest of the world fooled into thinking you haven’t a care in the world, but I know better.” She kissed him tenderly. “I know you, darling. There are a thousand things you’re not telling me, and I want to know them all.”

The corner of his mouth bent ruefully. “Of course you do.” But he said nothing else, nothing to enlighten her. He only stroked his hand along the side of her hip, the curve of her bottom, while his eyes searched her face.

“Roland, what is it? Are you worried about Somerton?”

“Yes. I rather resent the fact that the key to my happiness lies in his beastly paw. But I’ve been thinking also . . .” His voice drifted.

“Yes?”

“Well, we’ve got to run off, probably to some godforsaken hole, no doctors to speak of, and I can’t help feeling . . .” He paused again, frowning.

“Tell me.”

His hand settled against her bottom, urging her closer. “Listen to me, darling. When I’d heard you were expecting, all those years ago, so soon after your wedding, I . . . well, I went rather mad. Bad enough you’d married, but that!” His eyes closed tightly for an instant. “I was rather off my head for a bit. But when the time came, when you were confined . . .”

“How did you know about that?” Her throat was dry.

“I bribed a housemaid,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I had to know you were safe. I was most awfully worried. I kept thinking, what if something goes wrong? Women die all the time, having babies. That was when I stopped being angry at you, I believe. All that mattered anymore was that you were safe, that you were alive.” His voice took on a strained note, hushed and husky in the flickering air between them. “That night I prayed. On my knees I prayed. I asked God to spare you, that I’d accept everything, anything, as long as you still existed, somewhere on this earth.”

“Oh, Roland.” She buried her head in his chest. “Oh, Roland. I was fine. Never any danger. I mean, it hurt most terribly, of course. They wanted to give me chloroform, but I refused. And . . . well . . . it was a great deal of effort. It wasn’t easy.” She lifted her head. “But I was fine. He came out beautifully. The doctor said I was built for it. Like a peasant woman.”

His hand went to her hair, stroking. “Darling, if something goes wrong, I’ll never forgive myself. For being so careless as to get you with child to begin with, and then in such circumstances. Not having married you. Not having given you my name, to protect you and the baby.”

She worked herself upward, supporting herself with one elbow. “Roland, listen to me. I want this child. Do you hear me? I’m not the slightest bit ashamed. Not anymore. As long as you’re with me, as long as Philip is with me, the rest of it doesn’t matter. Whatever happens, whatever the future holds, I’ll always have this part of you, created from you. And I am grateful to God for that.”

He turned her on her back and rose above her. His eyes were fierce, glowing. “Don’t speak as if we won’t be together. Don’t even think it, by God. When this child is born, Lilibet, we’ll be man and wife. I swear it on my life.”

She cupped the back of his head with her hands. “Don’t say that. It doesn’t matter, Roland. I’m long past the point of caring what anybody else thinks. I’ve been married, and it was meaningless. A sham, a travesty.” She drew his face down to hers and kissed him. “This is what’s real, Roland.
This
is what’s sacred. This bond, this union between us.”

“But legally, he’s still your husband. Legally he still has dominion over you, and I won’t allow it. By God, not a moment longer than I can. As soon as I’ve hidden you and Philip safely away, I’m going to find him and end this.”

“No. No, you’re not!” She pushed herself out from underneath him, levering herself upright in the narrow bed. “What are you talking about? He’s a dangerous man, Roland. You don’t understand.”

He rose up with her, the blanket falling away from his body to expose the broad reach of his chest, burnished gold in the candlelight and curving with hard, bladelike muscles. “I assure you,” he said, his voice low and growling, “I’m capable of holding my own against Somerton.”

With one fist she pounded the sheet next to her. “No, you’re not. Listen to me, Roland. He’s a professional. He’s a . . . I can’t explain it . . . He does things for the government, secret things, brutal things . . .”

He captured her wrist with his hand and brought it to his lips. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll win. I’ve cunning of my own, strength of my own. More than you realize. And more than that: I’ve
you
to fight for. You and our family.”

“Don’t do it, Roland. Please,” she said, in a whisper. A cold pool of fear spilled through her body, spreading to her fingers, her toes. “I’ve seen what he can do. It’s worse than you can imagine, a different
world
from ours. Listen to me. I followed him one night, thinking he was off to some strumpet’s bed, and instead . . . It was unspeakable, Roland, what he did. I saw him kill a man.”

“What did you see?” He caught her other hand and spoke with urgency. “Tell me, Lilibet. When was this? What did you see?”

She shook her head back and forth. “A year or so ago. I can’t say more; it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to remember it. But it was horrible, Roland. If he did that to you, I’d die. I couldn’t live, knowing it was because of me.” She twisted her fingers around, until she was gripping his hands. “Don’t go after him, Roland. We’ll find some quiet place, some secret place. He’ll never find us. When he’s dead, when Philip inherits, we can return to England . . .”

“And meanwhile live our lives in fear of discovery? Looking over our shoulders for him? No, Lilibet. I won’t give him that power. And I’ll be damned if I allow you and our child to be exposed to the narrow-minded cluck-clucking of beastly provincial burghers and their wives . . .”

She freed her hands, laid one finger on his lips, and curled her hand around the back of his neck. “Roland, no. I don’t want to hear it, at the moment. I don’t want to think about it. I want you to make love to me again, and I want to fall asleep in your arms, and in the morning we’ll ride off with Philip, and everything will be fine.”

“Lilibet . . .”

“Shh.” She leaned her head into the hollow of his throat and kissed him there, savoring the salty-sweet taste, the hint of soap, the unexpected softness of his skin: tender and masculine all at once. Desire flooded her, pure and carnal. She rose on her knees, kissed his lips, and rubbed the aching tips of her breasts against him. “Please, Roland. We can decide all that tomorrow. Let’s not spoil another moment of this night.
Our
night.”

His hands crept up her back. “Oh, darling . . .”

“Again.” She kissed him, all over his face, tracing each beloved feature and the fine, rough texture of his midnight beard. She could not stop kissing him, could not stop reassuring herself that he was real, that he was hers. “I want to feel you inside me again. Connected with you, part of you. Please, Roland.”

“You
are
a part of me, darling. You always have been.” He was still stiff, still trying to resist her. Still wanting to resolve things.

“Shh. You know what I mean.” She kissed her way to his ear and drew her hands down to the curve of his buttocks, guiding him toward her. “You know what it’s like when we’re together. Don’t you feel it?”

He groaned. “God, yes.”

“Consummation. Communion. As if our souls were somehow speaking to each other. And don’t say it’s rubbish. You know it’s true.” She took his hand and placed it around her breast, his fingers dark and strong next to her pale skin. “Please. Work your magic on me again, Roland. All those lovely feelings. I want them again. I want
you
again.”

A low growl came from his throat, a noise of surrender. He eased her backward, into the mattress. “Here? But it’s just a dull old bed. For married couples, you said.”

“Oh, well. We’ll make do. Since there’s no lake nearby.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of him, trailing his lips down her throat to her bosom.

“The stables aren’t far.”

“Too late.” She wove her hands through his hair. “I want you
now
.”

He made love to her with painstaking care, until she was nothing but sensation, made of light and air and Roland’s body pulsing with release above hers.
Memorize this
, she thought.
Remember it
. Whatever the future held, whatever might come tomorrow, in this eternal instant they existed as a united whole, before God. This act had occurred, a solid physical fact, and no one could change it. No one could erase it.

Not even Somerton.

He remained inside her for long minutes afterward, remained joined with her, the silence wrapping about them like a benediction.

When at last he leaned over her to blow out the candle, she noticed the glint of light on the fine hair of his forearm in the instant before the darkness swallowed him up. She remembered, later, thinking how strong his arm looked, how invulnerable, how fully capable of protecting her.