Bound by Bliss (31 page)

Keeping his finger there, slowly circling, he used his other hand to spread her farther. Her clit peeked out, pink and swollen—and irresistible.

He had tasted her only moments before, but now his mouth watered with his own need. Forming his tongue into a hard point, he flicked it over her greedy flesh. Her legs tightened, closing about his head, but he held them wide. He flicked, he blew, he sucked and laved, loving every tiny response of her body. He could feel when she grew tight and held himself back, waiting until her breath returned. And always he took her one step further, one step closer—only to hold her back from that final moment.

Her head thrashed upon the pillows as soft, unknowing cries escaped her lips.

She was close, so close.

And it would be so easy, so easy to rise over her, to fill her, to bring them both to heaven together. He was going to marry her, what did it matter?

No.

He bent his head, sucked her deep into his mouth, his tongue working against sensitive tissue. With his lower hand he circled her entrance once more, and then let the tip slip in, pressing against velvet flesh, filling her just enough.

He waited, felt her tense about him.

And gave it to her, pushed and pressed and nipped, his teeth moving upon her, until her body lifted from the bed, his name echoing about the room.

He pushed her there again, and yet one more time. Her cries grew hoarse and harsh, her body limp before him.

And then he kissed her, softly, sweetly, once at the top of each thigh and once upon the soft curve of her belly.

And then, himself still hard and unsatisfied, he moved up the bed until he could pull her into his arms, lay her head upon his chest and let peace fill them for the briefest of moments.

He felt her lashes flutter against his breast, felt her body curl into his warmth.

This was the time. He knew it and yet he resisted, wanting one more moment of this quiet perfection.

But no, a better moment would not come. “Tell me, Bliss,” he whispered against her damp locks, “Tell me, why do you not want love? Why do you fear it, fear me so greatly?”

She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to think. Bliss heard Stephan’s words and wished them away. Her body had never ached with such satisfaction.

Tell me, why do you not want love? Why do you fear it, fear me so greatly?
The words filled her brain and settled.

She had no defense in this moment. He had wiped them all away. She didn’t want to answer, did not want to seek the reasons.

“Love doesn’t last.” There, that was simple and did not require much thought. She turned her face into his chest, felt the beat of his heart against her cheek. “It goes away.”

“Love does last. I know you have seen it. Do you really think Swanston and Louisa’s love will end?” His words rumbled around her.

“I hope it doesn’t, but I fear.”

“Why do you fear? One has only to see how your brother looks at her to know he would rather die than let any harm come to her, and she looks back at him with the same expression. I tend to be cynical, but nobody can deny their love or that it will last.”

She pushed the blindfold from her eyes, needing to see Stephan. If only she could be as sure as he about her brother and his wife, could know the future, maybe then she would have faith. “I wish I could be as sure. It is not that I doubt my brother, and I certainly do not doubt Louisa, but life is not smooth and easy. You say that Swanston would rather die than have anything happen to Louisa, well, what will happen if that does happen? Or if she does not survive childbirth? How will my brother go on without her? Love ends. I want no part of it.”

“But what if he does not die? What if she has many healthy, beautiful children?”

“Then they will be lucky. I have never been lucky.” That sounded so awful. Anybody looking at her, thinking about her, would think she was one of the luckiest women in the country. Rich. Titled. Beautiful. The world was hers. And yet she knew it was all a lie. As the words leaked from her lips they carved themselves into her heart.

“How can you say that?”

“How can you deny it? Everything I have in this life has cost me. Love has never brought me joy, only pain.” Her whole being ached with the truth of those words. Opening herself to them was like a mortal blow.

“I do not understand.” His voice rumbled around her.

She was quiet for a moment, feeling the words rise within her, but unwilling to give them air, to give them reality. She let the blindfold slip back over her eyes. It was easier when she was locked in her own private world. “I was hardly more than a baby when my mother died. I should probably have been too young to miss her, too young to remember her, but I was not. She had been my world up until that point. I loved her and she loved me. I sometimes think she was made up of love, love and fun. No matter how many of us children there were she always had time, always found a way to let each one of us know that we were the center of her world. There could be months after a pregnancy did not end happily that she would be removed from us, but even then if I snuck into her room she would greet me with a smile and kiss. I did not know the world could be different.

“I knew my father was an oddity even then. If he had not been a duke some might have questioned his sanity, but he was always fun. He had the best schemes and would play with us like he was one of us. I think he often believed that he was still a child. He certainly never had any need to act the adult. My mother loved to laugh with him. They could laugh with such joy that it would fill a room, if not the whole house.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

And it had been. She wanted to weep for how wonderful it had been. “It was. I know that Swanston will talk of how dinner was never at a set time and so often the roast was overcooked or still raw. He will remember dogs running through the halls and the year my father decided that it was too cold in the stable for his favorite racer. The house was as apt to smell of animals as lemon polish. Actually I am not sure that I remember it ever smelling of lemon while my mother still lived. Roses on occasion. She did love flowers, but most often it smelled of whatever creature my father was obsessed with at the moment. But I stray. My point is that for a brief slice of time it wasn’t just wonderful, it was perfect.”

“Then…”

Before he could say more she cut him off. “And then she died, then she left me. One moment I was turning cartwheels in the courtyard, dreaming of learning to tumble and spin all the way across the stones, and the next my mother was dead, lying flat on the pavement only feet away from me. Did you know that I was there? That I waved to her as she stood on the balcony eager to join our play? That I saw her face before she crashed down? I went from perfection to hell in less than a second.”

“I still do not understand why that should make you afraid of love. I would think it would make you treasure it more.” He rose up on an elbow and looked down at her.

Despite her lethargy she felt anger begin to simmer in her belly. Why did he need to understand? Why did he even want to? It was not his life. “Because she left me. She taught me how wonderful love was and then she took it away. And she took it away from my father too. Swanston thinks she killed herself. He doesn’t believe that she just fell from the balcony. He thinks she jumped. I heard him whisper it once. I’ve wondered for years, tried to remember every nuance of her face before she fell—or jumped. I remember seeing her, watching her smile as she tried to walk along the railing like a tightrope walker. We were all playing circus. She just wanted to join in, didn’t she? Could she really have jumped? Could she have left me deliberately? Could life have been so bad that I was not enough, that my father was not enough? Before her death some might have considered him odd, but it was a normal type of odd. He still kept the account books, took his seat in parliament, remembered to wash between playing in the stables and attending a ball. After her death he didn’t do anything. He went from being a father who cared to one who didn’t notice if I stood in front of him and screamed. He didn’t care about anything except that she was gone. She might have been the one who died, but I lost him too. And then Swanston went to school and he left me. He came back changed, cold and stern. I’ve never had a love that lasted. I am tired of the pain. I do not want any more. I want a good husband, whom I will care for and who will care for me. I do not want to love him and I do not want him to love me. Life is easier without love.”

Did she really believe that? She’d never consciously put it into thought before. And those thoughts about her mother’s death, mostly she refused to believe them, but now, now she wondered again. Had she not been enough? Had her mother chosen to die?

“I do not believe that. And I cannot believe that you do either.” Duldon shifted and she felt him lean above her on the bed. “Would you have given up those years with your mother? I do not believe she would have given them up either. I cannot believe you think she would ever have left you or your family on purpose. And I don’t think Swanston does either. He may have wondered, but I do not think he believes it. And your father? Do you think your father wishes he had never met her? Avoiding love doesn’t prevent tragedy, it only prevents love.”

If only she could believe that. “It also prevents pain. I think it is easier to live without something than it is to lose it.”

He lifted a hand and trailed it across her lips. Without thought she placed a quiet kiss upon it.

“I can understand why you believe that,” he said. “I might not even argue with it, but easier is not the same as better. Life is better with love. I never thought you were a woman to take the easy route. If anything you often seem to work to make things harder than they need to be.”

She turned her face from him, scared that he would see how his words affected her. No, she did not seek the easy—except in this. There were some things that were not worth risk. “And how would you know, about me or about love?” Was that anger that edged her voice? Were the feelings of all these years finally seeping out?

“We will not discuss how I know about you. You know very well that I have cared for you. I will not debate that. I used to think that I knew you better than you know yourself. Even after all these years I think I see to the true heart of you, Bliss. As for love, you might think that having grown up almost on my own, raised by a man who rarely thought beyond my physical needs, that I would not know love, but I have seen it. I have seen it and missed it. I do not want to live without it. I would rather not marry than have a tolerable marriage. It is why I have waited for you.” His hands slipped up about her face, a twist of his fingers and the blindfold fell loose for a second time, leaving him staring straight into her eyes.

Could he possibly be saying what she thought he was? No, he did not mean that he loved her. She did not know what he did mean, but she was sure he did not mean that. “I can understand the lack you felt as a child and why it makes you want more, but it does not change the way I feel.”

“I also saw my guardian fall in love with a woman who was not his wife. He was unhappy for years as a result and even after his death his actions still bring pain. I will not follow that path.”

“I am not asking you to.” She spoke firmly and was not sure whether she sought to reassure herself or Stephan.

“Are you not?” His question was quiet, but very, very firm.

She turned her head from him, seeking distraction. “What are the feathers for? I don’t believe you showed me.”

His chest expanded above her until it seemed to fill her entire field of vision. “Do you need so badly to avoid this conversation?” Resignation sounded in his tone.

She did not answer, but placed a single hand upon his chest.

He exhaled. “Very well.” He reached for the soft white feather and lifted it, trailing it across her shoulder. It felt like a thousand velvet kisses. She could barely feel it, and yet her whole body was aware of that softest of brushes. Her head lolled back as for a moment she did nothing but enjoy.

“You like that,” he said. “And this?”

He lifted the black feather with his other hand, and brushed it across the top of her breast. It was much more definite in feel than the white feather, not a scratch, but firm and thin. Her forehead drew together as she considered the sensation.

“You are not as sure about that one, but I have a feeling it will grow on you. Are you ready to start again?” Stephan asked.

“Can’t I use them on you?” Her mind filled with the image of trailing the soft white feather over the tight muscles of his chest, of letting it drift lower, of…

“Your face is so transparent, kitten.”

“Only with you. You always seem to be reading my mind.”

“Do you ever wonder why that is?”

She closed her mouth. No. She spent a great deal of time
not
thinking about such things.

“I cannot grant your boon when you are not honest with me.”

Her lips stayed tight.

He smiled, softly and with great patience. “Then what about another question? Are you prepared to trust me with more? It always comes back to trust between us.”

What would he ask? She knew it would not be easy. “I cannot promise to answer.”

“And I cannot promise to give over control.”

“Ask.” She stared at his chest, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Why are you so opposed to marriage? I have tried to understand, but have not found an answer. You are clearly not scared of the physical aspects. Are you scared of childbirth?”

That she had not expected. Her eyes darted up to his and then fell back when she caught the intensity behind his gaze. “No.”

“I need more than that.”

“I am not sure why you ask. And I would admit that I do not look forward to being with child, but neither do I fear it. I watched my mother’s discomfort with the condition and I cannot say I desire the same for myself, and I certainly fear the loss of a baby, but I do not fear childbirth itself. I am strong and my hips are wide—if you have not noticed.”