Candice Hern (28 page)

His eyes widened, he sucked in a sharp breath, and his erection throbbed. She stood before him, naked and unashamed, wearing nothing on her perfect white skin but the light from a single candle on a nearby table. Dear God, she was gorgeous. Tall and slender, she was not voluptuous, but elegantly proportioned with graceful curves. Her breasts were not large, but firm and lovely with dark nipples standing at attention. Her waist was small, her belly not quite flat but softly rounded, her hips wide but not too wide, and her legs long and shapely. At the juncture of her legs was a thick tuft of golden curls.

And every bare inch of perfect flesh was flushed pink, just as he'd expected.

Rochdale rose and walked to her. "My dear Grace, you are making it very, very difficult for me to behave honorably." He reached out to the long, glorious hair he had waited so long to see like this, hanging thick and loose over her shoulders. He lifted it and let it spill over his fingers like water. There was so much if it. So much of her. Good intentions be damned, there was no way in hell he could resist her now.

"The honorable thing to do," she said, "would be to finish what you started."

To his surprise, she reached for the belt of his dressing gown and untied it. Her eyes widened when it fell open to reveal his nakedness and a rampant erection. Undaunted, she pushed the heavy brocade over his shoulders. He shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor.

He took her hands and held her away from him as they both studied each other's bodies. Her flush deepened as she looked at him, and he smiled.

"You've never been naked with a man before, have you?"

She shook her head, her gaze still sweeping over his body. "You are ... very nicely made, John. Quite ... magnificent, in fact."

"The only word I have to describe you, my dear, is perfection. I feel honored to be allowed to look upon you. To be the first to do so."

"I want to touch you, John. To feel your skin against mine."

"I am your servant, ma'am." And he took her into his arms and kissed her.

The kiss became wild and unbridled as they explored each other's bodies. She gave a plaintive moan as his hand caressed a breast, his fingers fondling a nipple. Her knees seemed to buckle slightly, and he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.

They quickly became a tangle of arms and legs as they kissed and kissed and kissed. Grace was awash in sensations she'd never imagined. Even her vivid dream had been nothing like this. Rochdale's chest and legs and arms were covered in coarse black hair, and she loved the feel of it against her smooth skin. In fact, her skin had become so sensitive that every touch, every stroke, every rub, every lick of his tongue sent her into new raptures.

The whole experience was indescribable. Unexpected, and yet everything she'd expected.

Rochdale crawled on top of her, and Grace thought they were about to finish, but he did not enter her yet. He took first one breast into his mouth and suckled, then the other. She writhed beneath him, beneath the unimaginable bliss of his lips and tongue. Without conscious thought, she arched up into his mouth, into pleasure, wanting all of it, and more.

While his tongue painted wet circles around her nipple, his hand roamed lower, stroking her stomach and hips and thighs. His fingers trailed along her inner thigh and she instinctively parted her legs. His hand then crept up her thigh and into the soft curls that hid her sex. She cried out when he parted her and inserted a finger inside. Grace spent the merest instant in embarrassment over the dampness he found there, but she immediately lost all inhibitions as he slid the finger in and out, sending her into an oblivion of sensation. She almost leapt off the bed when his damp finger began to stroke the tiny nub above her sex. Lord, it was so sensitive it was near impossible to bear his touch, as if this intimate caress was never meant to be, was too wicked to be allowed. And yet she pressed up against him, wanting more.

Rochdale's mouth left her breast and returned to her mouth, taking her in a kiss that ravished her senses. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, "Is it good, Grace?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"And I am on fire for you. You are wild and wonderful, Grace. Hot and slick and ready to be loved. Do you want more?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"
"Yes!"

"Then let me give it to you."

He trailed his hot tongue down her throat and between her breasts, licking the underside of each, down her ribs and abdomen and her belly, and finally to the very edge of that most private part of her, where his fingers had been before. Dear God, this, of all things, must be truly sinful. It could not be right or normal. Could it? "W-what are you doing?"

He lifted his head and said, "You want it all, don't you, Grace? Relax your legs for me. Open up for me. Let me pleasure you."

And, God help her, she let him. She shuddered as the velvety tip of his tongue began to stroke her sex and the sensitive nub above it. It was sinful and wicked ... and wonderful. She had never felt anything like this before. It confused and compelled her. She writhed against his mouth, lifting her hips off the bed. She reached and reached ... not knowing for what ... but there was something ... something more. She pushed and arched, rocking her hips. She could not be still, and he grabbed her buttocks, lifting her, holding her in his grip, forcing her to accept the pleasure of his tongue. Her muscles strained and clenched tightly, and she moaned in agony, unable to bear it much longer. Finally, when she thought she might die — of what? pleasure? pain? — her sex contracted into a single, massive convulsion that tore through her like an explosion, sending her arching off the bed and shouting his name.

Before she could begin to wonder what in heaven had happened, Rochdale moved up her body, spread her legs wide with his knees, and pushed himself deep inside her. He held himself still for a moment and let out a long sigh. This, at least, should have been familiar, but there was nothing in her experience that resembled what she felt now, stretched and filled by Rochdale. Grace sensed an odd little pulsing in her sex, an aftermath of the explosion, and each pulse seemed to tighten her inner muscles around him.

"Dear God, Grace. You are killing me."

For a moment, she thought that somehow she was hurting him, but he began to move in her and it felt so good she wondered who was killing whom. He moved very slowly at first, lifting himself off her and pulling almost all the way out, then plunging deep inside again. He bent down and kissed her tenderly while he moved in her, taking her hands and holding them next to her shoulders, linking his fingers with hers. He thrust into her again and again, and Grace marveled that this act of intimacy, which had lasted for only brief seconds with her husband, could provide such prolonged pleasure.

If this was wicked, she no longer wished to be good. Before her mind was lost again to all rational thought, she reflected for an instant on the bishop, and hated him a little for denying her this. And pitied him, too, for denying himself.

Rochdale increased the tempo of their rhythm, groaning as he buried his face in her hair. She pushed harder against him. Pleasure grew with each thrust. Grew and grew until it became almost painful to endure, almost unbearable. And just like the first time, the coiled knot of tension exploded, and she soared to some new and dazzling place, a pocket of pure, brilliant sensation that closed around her, and she cried out at the force of the flight. Then she slowly, tremulously settled back to earth. And there was no pain at all. Only peace and overwhelming joy.

Rochdale's release came close on the heels of hers. He continued to pump into her, faster and faster. And then, with a ragged groan, he pulled out, spilling his seed on her stomach. When she realized why, tears built up behind her eyes. He was protecting her. Again. He would not want a babe to be the result of this night. She'd been too emotional, too lost to all sense to even think of such a circumstance. Wilhelmina had warned her to take precautions, reminded her that the absence of pregnancy during her marriage might have been the bishop's fault and not hers. But none of those warnings had entered Grace's mind. Thank heaven Rochdale had had the presence of mind that she'd lacked.

He collapsed on her, panting and damp with sweat. "My sweet Grace," he said breathlessly. "That was ... amazing."

"Yes. Amazing."

After a moment, he rolled off her and fell onto his back. He took her hand as they lay side by side. "You survived?"

"Barely."

He laughed, and she could feel the mattress shake with it. "Was it ... was it what you expected?"

Grace shook her head. "No. I had no idea ..." Nothing she had heard from her friends or dreamed about, nothing from her relations with her husband, had prepared her for what had just taken place. Especially those two explosions of sensation that she still did not entirely understand.

"But it was good?"

She turned her head to look at him. "Very, very good. And to think, you almost denied me all that pleasure, you wretch."

"I was trying to be noble, but you did not play fair. Offering your naked self to me like that. What's a poor fellow to do?"

"I am glad we did it, John. I am glad we made love."

"I am, too." He leaned over and kissed her briefly, then rose from the bed.

She watched him walk naked across the room. Everything she'd dreamed of was there, on full and uninhibited display. The lithe animal grace of his body. The masculine solidity. No wonder so many women found him irresistible.

He dropped a cloth into a basin of water and, with his back to her, proceeded to wash himself. He rinsed out the cloth and brought it to her, turning away to give her some privacy while she cleaned off the evidence of their lovemaking.

When she was finished, Rochdale returned the cloth to the basin, snuffed out the lone candle, and crawled into bed. He pulled the covers over them, and gathered her close to his side. She wriggled against him, loving the sensation of being skin to skin. Grace had never imagined that nakedness could feel so ... nice. Not at all wicked, as she had imagined it would be. She loved the feel of the soft, cool sheets against her heated flesh. She loved the weight of her hair on her bare back. She even loved the cool air of the room on her shoulders and upper arms. Every inch of her seemed to have come alive to new, simple, pleasurable sensations. Not the least of which was the warm contact with the man beside her.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and flung a leg over his. She'd never felt more cozy and comfortable in her life.

He placed a hand in her hair and ran his fingers lazily through it. "Grace, are you sure you do not mind that I have made you a partner in debauchery? I am still riddled with guilt over it, you know."

"If that was debauchery, then I gladly give in to it. You need not feel guilty. I got naked first, after all."

He chuckled. "So you did."

"You are just feeling unsettled because I am not your usual type of woman. Just because I am a respectable widow does not mean you have done anything wrong in making love to me. It only means that you are irresistible to women of all stripes."

"Am I?" He flashed an intimate smile. "Well, none of this would have happened if
you
had not been so damned irresistible." His hand crept down and stroked her buttocks. "The thing is, Grace, your respectability is very much on my mind. Whatever happens between us after tonight, I will not have your name in any way sullied. We shall be discreet here in Newmarket. Most people will think you are my latest bit of muslin, so long as you keep your veil down. Do you have a middle name?"

"Yes. It's Marie."

"If anyone insists on knowing your name, I shall introduce you as Marie."

"I feel like a new person. I might as well have a new name."

"It's been a long day," he said, rolling onto his side and turning her around so that her back was against his chest. He tucked her tight to him and put an arm around her, one hand on her breast. Grace had never slept in a man's arms before. She expected she would be too keyed up to sleep, but she felt deliciously languorous. And so snug and warm with Rochdale wrapped around her.

"Let's get some sleep," he said.

As it happened, desire kept them busy much of the night, and they did not get very much sleep at all.

* * *

After a quick visit to the stables to check on Serenity, Rochdale took Grace to the High Street shops so he could buy her a fresh dress and whatever undergarments she needed. He'd expected her to object, to complain that it was improper to accept any more such intimate gifts from him. Instead, she entered into the expedition with glee, pretending to be Marie, his doxy.

Her style was not the least doxy-like, however, nor did her taste run to the inexpensive. He didn't care how much she spent. After a night with her in his arms, he was ready to buy her the moon if she wanted it.

This new love-struck attitude amused him. He had spent a lifetime honing a fine cynical edge that Grace had effectively dulled in a single night.

She chose an elegant dress of striped muslin and a green spencer jacket trimmed with gold braid, both ready-made and each a near-perfect fit needing no alterations. The blue-veiled bonnet looked wrong with the new costume, so Rochdale insisted on a new hat as well. The milliner, who knew a good mark when she saw one, was very accommodating about adding a veil to a shallow-brimmed chip straw bonnet. At first she attached a short veil that hung loose over Grace's face, but "Marie" insisted on a longer piece of gossamer silk that she could wrap under her chin and tie in the back. It was not the current fashion, but Grace had such natural flair that it looked stylish on her.

Rochdale walked with her back to the King's Head so she could change into the new clothes. He helped her to undress, and soon they were naked on the bed together. They made love again, though she must have been sore from the three times last night and the slow, lazy coupling that morning.

Now that he'd had her, he couldn't seem to get enough of her. No doubt the novelty would soon wear off, but for now he was obsessed with her. And more than a little besotted.