Bridal Favors - Engaged in Wickedness (10 page)

She let her head drop slightly backwards as her eyes slipped closed. She was enjoying his touch, carefully blocking her mind to everything but what he did.

"I will debauch you, Lady Gwen," he said. "I will ruin you so thoroughly that your brother will have no choice but to let you leave the house."

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He saw anxiety there, but also a desperate longing. She knew what she was asking and a part of her worried about the illogic of it all. Unfortunately, it was only a part. The rest of her was still driven to continue with her scheme.

"There is more," she finally said. "There is a condition to your plan. I can feel it."

He let his lips curve in a gentle smile. "This is not
my
plan."

"It matters not whose plan it is," she said with a show of spirit. "I care only what it will take to get you to do it."

He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. "I only ask that you let me choose the manner and the location. Your first time should not be done on a night like this with your mother down the hallway. You are exhausted Gwen, and even if you are not, I have spent the last fortnight working myself to the bone so I could return to you here."

He saw awareness enter her gaze. She searched his face and no doubt found the signs of his own weakness. "I'm sorry. I had not realized."

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. Yes, he was tired, but his body was more than up to the task. Especially now when she stood so beautifully right beside her bed. It would take mere seconds for him to release her gown and find sweet Heaven in her body.

"You should rest now," he said. "We can talk tomorrow about the wheres and the whens."

She swallowed, and her eyes cut briefly to the window before returning to him. She looked suddenly nervous and a little vulnerable.

"What is it?" he asked, abruptly concerned.

She swallowed, then looked down at her folded hands. "I—I don't want to be alone, Edward. Please don't leave me just yet."

He could deny her nothing, though it would be hell to lie beside her and remain chaste as a monk. But that was what she needed, even if she didn't know it herself. So he crossed to her bed and lay down, careful to keep above the covers. Then he opened his arms.

She needed no more prompting than that. She all but jumped into bed, curled tight to his side, and set her head upon his shoulder. He thought they would lay like that in silence, but Gwen had a lively mind and a mischievous heart. Before he'd even realized what she'd done, he felt her fingers slip between the folds of his shirt to stroke his bare chest.

"Gwen, I am very tired," he lied. In truth, his organ was standing out like a flag pole and it was all he could do to lay there quietly while her fingers did wicked things to his skin.

"Surely if you are going to debauch me, we should get in a little practice first," she said.

Was it really so easy to sway him? So small a thing could make all his resolve crumple? Apparently so because he lazily turned to her, a smile forming on his lips. "Well, I suppose a little practice would be acceptable." So saying he touched her chin and lifted her mouth to his.

Chapter 8

His kiss was exactly how she remembered it, and given how much it had grown in her mind, that was saying something indeed. Their lips touched and clung. Given her position lying on his shoulder, she had to stretch up to meet him and he had to tilt down quite a ways for her. It should have been awkward. It wasn't. It was so very, very exciting. Her toes curled, her belly quivered, and her blood seemed to sing in her ears.

So she pulled back to look at him. She was making a decision. In truth she'd made it the first night he'd climbed into her bedroom window, but now she was resolute. She would know what making love was like. She didn't care about the consequences. She was old enough and well past time to know about this part of life.

He must have seen the change in her eyes. He lifted up his head to study her face more closely.

"What?" he asked. "What are you thinking?"

"I was five years old the first time I walked in on my father and the nanny. Five years old, but I remember it clearly. There were many more times after that with the maids or visiting ladies. My father was never discrete or even quiet. I understood the mechanics of the deed by the time I was eight."

"Good God."

"When Robert was nine, he brought home a tin of French letters." She frowned and lifted her chin. "You know what they are, don't you?"

"The medical term is 'condom.' And yes, I know what they are."

She smiled. "Good. Because Robert set them throughout the house. He said he would not be fighting bastards for the title and the least father could do was use them."

Edward frowned. "Did it work? Did your father use them?"

Gwen shrugged. "Some. I don't know. I know he didn't use all of them because I stole one. It's in my drawer right over there."

Far from being happy, Edward groaned and dropped his head back onto the pillow. "Gwen, did I not just say I was tired?"

"You lied," she said. And then she did the boldest thing she'd done in her entire wild and mischievous life. She put her hand on his organ.

"God!" he gasped as he bolted upright, but she was lying across his side and he could not go far, especially as she moved to grip him tighter. He grabbed her wrist, but did not drag her away. His breath was ragged, his skin flushed. "Gwen, dear. Please don't grip so tight."

"Oh!" She immediately released him and he pulled her hand off. She could not fight him. He was too strong. So she levered herself onto an elbow to look at him clearly. "I want to know, Edward. To touch, to see. To
know
."

"There is plenty of time—"

She snorted. "I don't care if I have the rest of the century. I am tired of waiting. I have done a study of it, you know. Greek statues, my father's orgies—"

"The devil you say!"

"I have had quite the education, Edward. But no actual experience. And I am
tired of waiting
."

"So you've said. But Gwen, you have experienced much more than most."

She laughed. "What is that to the point? I want to know more." Then she switched tactics. She turned her voice gentle, her expression pleading. "I watched a woman once with my father."

"Good God, where was your family? The butler, if no one else. Someone!"

"Graves did catch me. And my nannies. But I was determined."

"Obviously."

She smiled at the wry note in his voice. "The thing is, I saw a woman doing something with my father. She was, well, doing to him what you did to me a bit ago."

"Yes, I am familiar with the process."

"But that is exactly the point!" she huffed. "I want to try it, too. I want to touch it. What does it feel like? What is the taste?" She felt her face heat at that, but she was serious. She had been thinking of it for ever so long. "There is no risk to virginity and I understand you would find it enjoyable."

"Gwen," he said on a moan. He had thrown an arm across his brow, so she could not see his face. "I am not a saint. Even being here like this is a risk to your virginity."

"Well, that is why I have the French letters."

He dropped his arm away from his eyes, and his expression was not in the least bit encouraging. "You are a gently reared daughter of an Earl. How can we be having this conversation?"

She arched a brow. "Isn't that what I have just been telling you? There was nothing gentle about my childhood. Nothing at all."

He had no answer to that, only a sad look as he stroked across her cheek. "You deserve so much better."

She smiled as she raised herself higher while simultaneously making sure her weight kept him pinned to the bed. "Deserve has nothing to do with it, Edward. I choose what I want to do. I always have."

"But—"

"And I choose to do this." So saying, she began to unbutton his trousers. It was awkward, of course, but she was pleased to see that he did not fight her. He put his hand on hers to still her fingers, but she pushed him away. "I want to see one up close."

He let his hand fall away. Clearly he had given in, though he did grumble a warning. "We are playing with fire."

She giggled. "It is what I do best."

Then she did look up. He tilted her chin so she had to look him in the eye. "Do you know why you are so wild? Do you understand the reason for it?"

Her eyes widened and she had a surge of panic. But she forced herself to tell him the truth. "No," she whispered. "No, I never have."

"I think I do. I think you are looking for something to thrill you. Something that will fill the hole where love should be."

She blinked, startled that her eyes were tearing. She had not thought he could see her so clearly. "I am loved," she said staunchly. "My parents love me in their own way. And Robert and Jack care, as does Graves our butler. And some of my nannies."

He brushed his thumb across her lips. "But it is not the kind of love that fills you with warmth, that makes a child feel secure. You and Robert have obviously been the parents in this home, and you have been from a very young age."

She had no answer to that. Everything he said was correct.

"But there is love out there for you. Real love. And this..." He gestured to where she had finally gotten his pants unbuttoned. "This will not fill the hole."

"It does for a time," she answered firmly. "When you were with me that night, it was the most wonderful thing ever!"

"And that is the saddest thing you have ever said to me, Gwen. It was wonderful, but it was not love. You do not know me well enough for it to be love."

She quieted, thinking over his words. "I do know you," she said softly. "I have been talking to Debra about you. You'd be surprised what I know."

He arched his brows. "I
am
surprised." He looked more than that. He looked pleased. But then he ruined it by shaking his head. "It is still not love."

"Really?" she challenged. She didn't know why she was doing it. She had no interest in love. It seemed to her that love was something silly girls talked about when what they really wanted was what she was doing. To kiss and touch. But here she was rising to the defense of a concept she didn't really believe in. "Shall I tell you what I know about you?"

He arched his brow.

She shifted until she was half laying across his chest and could look him directly in the eye. "I know you are smart. Debra told me that, of course—"

"Really?" he laughed. "She told me I was rather thick."

"Well yes, about Greek and Latin, but that's not important. I mean about managing the baronetcy and that you had high marks at school."

He arched a brow. "Hardly a basis for love."

"Hush! I am telling you what I know about you." She sighed and pulled away her hand from his trousers to set it on his chest. A breath later, she had braced her chin upon it. "I know you are well liked and considered an amiable fellow."

"Who says that?"

She named off the few gentlemen she had heard it from. In truth, she had been very busy these last weeks making inquiries. Those who had chanced to meet him because of his inheritance or at school had all liked him quite well. They had, however, unanimously decried his mother. Apparently the woman had shown up at school a few times.

"I also know that you are honorable."

He grimaced. "Our current position proves that a lie."

She dropped a kiss to his nose. "On the contrary. You have done everything to dissuade me. It is I who have been determined."

"
You
did not climb up into
my
bedroom."

"True enough," she said. "And that is yet another thing I know about you. You missed me. You had to see me tonight."

His eyes grew serious. "I did," he said softly. And she heard the strength of his need in those two rasped words and the dark intensity of his eyes.

"I missed you, too," she whispered. Then she took a breath and forced herself to say the truth. "You see me, Edward. You talk to me, you think about what I say, and you listen. I know a great many men. This is my third Season and I have had management of staff and my father's drinking chums as well. I know a great many men, Edward, and you are the only one who looks me in the eye and hears what I say."

He touched her cheek, stroking her skin and gently pushing her hair aside. "I see you, Gwen. But we are talking about
your
love, not mine."

It took a moment for his words to filter into her mind, for her to realize that he had just said he loved her. Or perhaps not so much said it as implied it. Unless he did not mean it that way. Unless...

She didn't know what to think. She
felt
like his love was a hot knife to her heart. It cut away her fears and exposed her pain as nothing else could. She wanted someone to love her. She wanted it with a desperation that hurt.

He was watching her, his expression steady, his body still. He didn't move. She wasn't sure he breathed, and the earnestness of it was too much. She could not face the knowledge either way. If she saw that he truly loved her, then she would be lost. She would do anything for him, just for the idea of the love of a good man. If she saw that he did
not
love her, then she would be crushed. So destroyed that she doubted she could recover.