Forevermore (10 page)

"I must get back to the ball." Caithren sighed, then brightened. "I cannot wait to tell everyone the news."

"Nay." Cameron put a hand on her arm. "This is your night. Yours and Jason's. If you've no objection, I've a mind to take my two women here downstairs for a dance or a dozen—"

"Me, too?" Mary squealed. "Is that why you taught us the dances?"

"Absolutely. We've much to celebrate, the three of us. But in secret, aye? No one else will know it's not only cousin Caithren's wedding we're celebrating, but our wedding-for-three as well. So lock your lips, aye?"

Mary clapped both hands over her mouth and nodded.

"Good." He took her by the hand and Clarice with his other. "Then let us celebrate."

Celebrate they did, dancing the new dances and supping on scrumptious delicacies until the wee hours when the ball finally wound down. The locals headed for home, and guests who'd traveled a distance were each shown to one of Cainewood Castle's hundred chambers. Mary fell asleep on the way up the stairs, and they took her to the nursery and tucked her into one of the small beds that flanked baby Jewel's cradle.

"She looks like a princess," Cameron whispered.

Clarice went on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you so much for including her in the handfasting. It meant so much to her." She hesitated a moment, still shy with this man—her new husband. "To both of us."

"To all three of us," he corrected her. He bent to kiss Mary's little forehead. "Now we've celebrated that, it's time for a more private celebration."

Though she told herself she was being ridiculous, Clarice trembled as they walked the short distance to the Gold Chamber. Once more she was awed by the gorgeous room, though Cam didn't give her much time to admire it. The door had barely shut behind them when he set down the candle he'd been carrying and dragged her up against him and into his arms.

His lips on hers were soft, caressing, almost sweet, but she sensed an urgency in him just before the kiss went hot and fervent. He kissed her senseless, plundering her mouth until she was breathless and tingling all over.

"I'll make you forget them," he promised when he finally pulled away. "Your first husband and the other man who mistreated you."

"I've forgotten them already," she whispered.

"That's not yet true," he said, "but I'll make it true." He lavished her face with little kisses, and her forehead and her neck and her ears. All the while he worked his arms out of his surcoat, and it dropped to the floor with a soft rustle.

Slowly he backed her up, until Clarice felt her legs against the bed. Someone had removed the costly brocade counterpane, and the quilts were folded back in a way she imagined was supposed to be inviting, but only served to boost her anxiety.

When he eased her down to the sheets, her trembling increased. Best to get this over with. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and drew a deep, shuddering breath. "All right," she forced between gritted teeth. "You can do it now."

She waited a few heartbeats, and when he didn't touch her, she opened her eyes. Cameron stood by the bed, staring down at her, his face an inscrutable mask.

She swallowed hard and frowned at him. "Do you not want to do it?"

"You can bet I do." His long fingers worked at the knot in his cravat. "But not until you're ready."

She bit her lip. "I'm ready now. Just…just do it."

"Nay." He drew off the cravat and set it on the bedside table. "I'll know when you're ready. You needn't announce it. Especially when it's not true."

"I'm ready," she insisted, wanting nothing more than to have this part out of the way. This part wasn't a fairytale, and she wanted to get back to the fairytale part of her exciting new life.

Tomorrow she and Mary would pack up their things and say good-bye to Gisela and Anne and all their other friends and neighbors. Then Sunday they'd be on their way to live in a castle…

"You're not ready," Cameron disagreed with staid calmness. His gaze was steady, his voice tender and huskily seductive. "When your breath comes heavy, when you ache deep inside, when your body trembles with need, not fear…
then
you'll be ready. And I won't be
doing it
until I know you want it just as much as I do."

"Oh, Cam." Her heart ached at the thought of disappointing him, but she didn't think that was the ache deep inside he was talking about. "I thought I'd explained this to you—I thought you understood. I'll never want it as much as you do. I'll never want it at all."

"Then we won't do it," he said simply.

Her jaw went slack, and a moment passed before her tongue could form any words. "You—you cannot mean that," she finally stammered.

"I don't lie, Clarice."

"But never…" It was incomprehensible. "Do you mean to say that if I don't want it, you will never do it at all?"

"Aye."

She struggled up on her elbows to better see into his eyes. He truly looked sincere. And he'd never given her cause to distrust him. She felt a flood of relief, mixed with wonder and a rush of love. "Thank you," she whispered.

Facing away, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off one of his shoes. "I don't think it will come down to never, though," he said conversationally. "I reckon that not too long from now you'll be dying to have me inside you."

She blushed at the frank talk. "Maybe," she said doubtfully, not wanting to argue. "In a few years."

"I was thinking more like a few hours." His second shoe hit the floor, and he shifted on the bed to look at her. "Or minutes."

Her elbows slid out from under her, and she lay flat, staring up at him. His eyes darkened. Thinking of the way he talked—
when your breath comes heavy, when you ache deep inside, when your body is trembling…you'll be dying to have me inside you
—made the heat rush to her cheeks and her mouth go dry.

She licked her lips. No man had ever talked to her like that. In fact, her first husband had never talked in bed at all—he'd either yelled or taken his pleasure as quickly as he could, in sullen silence.

When Cameron began to lower his mouth to meet hers, a little whimper rose from her throat. She wasn't quite sure whether it was a sign of fear or anticipation.

"Hush," he soothed, and sat up. In a businesslike way, he slipped his hands behind her neck and unclasped the pearls. They glistened in the candlelight as he slowly laid them on the bedside table with a series of soft clicks. "Do you like your wedding present?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

He was already removing her shoes. "Your wedding present. The pearls."

She gasped, and it wasn't only because his hands were streaking under her skirts. "But…when? How? I thought they were borrowed. It's too much—"

"Don't be silly, Clarice," he said, plucking off a garter. "Lady Leslie should own a nice set of pearls." The second garter joined the first on the floor. "Did you know your new cousin Amy is a jeweler?"

"Amy? Oh, you mean Lady Greystone? Yes. She gave Mary a locket for Christmas."

"Well, she asked a mere pittance for those pearls. Having a jeweler in the family proves to be mighty convenient."

The thought of lords and ladies as family made her head spin. Or maybe it was his hands slowly rolling her stockings down and off, his fingers tracing delicate paths on her legs. He ran a fingertip along the bottom of one bare foot. It made her toes curl and her breath catch.

Supporting himself on his forearms, he moved over her with a gentle smile. "I promise I won't do anything you don't like."

He smelled divinely male, and he felt warm, and because she believed him, his weight on her was more comforting than frightening. "Anything?"

"Anything. For now, I'll just kiss you." He cradled her cheek with a hand and skimmed his thumb over her lips. "You like kissing, aye?"

"Aye," she breathed. "I mean, yes. Kiss me. Please."

When his mouth claimed hers, she let herself slide into the gentle caress. She trusted him, and he'd said he wouldn't do anything she didn't like.

She definitely liked his kisses.

She still wondered that a man's mouth could be so soft. And when it turned harder, more demanding, she liked that, too. He tasted spicy and sweet, like the wine that had flowed freely at the ball. He nibbled her lips and traced them with his tongue before delving inside to make her mouth burn with fire. When at last he lifted his head, she found herself gasping for air.

Like he'd predicted, her breath was coming heavy.

His lips trailed down to press a soft kiss in the hollow of her neck. "Do you like this, my love?"

"Oh, yes." It was a wonder that a kiss, not even on the mouth, could feel so good. It made her all shivery. Her breathing wasn't getting any calmer.

Between their bodies, his fingers moved to detach the golden stomacher. Beneath it her breasts were laced tightly into the gown's bodice, and he went to work on the bow at the top, then tugged at the laces, and all the while his mouth continued the sensual assault on her sensitive throat.

At last he managed to pull the lacing free. He raised himself and spread the bodice wide, then traced a path with his lips to explore the mounds of her breasts through her flimsy chemise.

"So lovely," he murmured, and his words felt warm through the thin fabric. Clarice's heart skittered, then raced faster, so fast she wondered if he could hear it over the ragged sound of her uncontrolled breathing. He hooked a finger in the chemise's lacy neckline and dragged the material down, fastening his mouth on one rosy peak.

Hot. It felt hot and wet and wickedly wonderful. "Do you like this?" he whispered, his breath ruffling over her sensitized flesh.

In answer, she threaded her hands in his hair and pulled him even closer. Never had she dreamed her breasts would swell and crave a man's touch, a man's lips. Breasts were made to nourish babies, so she hadn't found any use for hers. Until now. Swirling his tongue across her tingling skin, he made his way to her other nipple, suckling it until it puckered in response.

It made her ache deep inside. Like he'd said it would.

When he drew off the gown and chemise, she liked it. When his fingers traced feathery trails all over her body, she liked that, too. When he removed his own clothes, she was surprised to find she liked that very much.

Her hands explored his heated skin, the unfamiliar contours of his muscles, the smooth planes of his back. She'd never voluntarily touched a man before, and touching him gave rise to new feelings, until her body trembled, but not with fear. With need, then, as he'd said it would. She felt like she wanted, yes,
needed
more from him.

Lud, it was just like he'd said it would be.

"I'm ready," she whispered, then drew a sharp breath, shocked that the words had escaped her lips. Surely she couldn't have meant them, couldn't really want him inside her. She knew what that felt like—it hurt. It would ruin all these new and wondrous sensations.

He stilled and rolled to her side. Lifting her hand from where it clenched his shoulder, he brushed his lips over the knuckles. Dark, unfathomable, magnetic, his gaze held hers. "Nay, you're not ready. But you will be, love."

Relief and disappointment mingled, along with anticipation. Her eyes slid closed when he slipped a hand between her legs and urged them apart. His fingers danced on the delicate flesh of her inner thighs, tantalizing, teasing, and her skin tingled almost unbearably.

"Do you like this?" he asked, and she could only nod her response. "Only what you like, Clarice. I promise."

When his hand brushed higher, she nearly leapt off the bed.

"Hush," he murmured in a soothing tone, taking her mouth in a deep kiss. When she relaxed, he raised his head. "A test, love, to see if you like it. Will you trust me?"

She bit her lip and nodded. Slowly he cupped her with a hand. Drawing a deep breath, she nodded again.

And his hand moved.

Lud, what sweet torture. Teasingly seductive, his fingers felt exquisite. "I like it," she whispered.

With an ease she never would have imagined, he slipped a finger inside, and a gasp escaped her lips. Half shock, half incredible pleasure.

Will had never touched her with his hands, only with his fists.

Aroused nearly beyond bearing, Cam struggled to hold himself in check. Sweet Lord, she was tight. And frightened out of her wits, he was sure. Once more he was gripped with a fierce urge to murder her late husband. But she gave off other signals as well, signals that made his heart swell with hope and tenderness.

She felt like heaven in his embrace. Her body exuded a heady, musky scent of arousal that drove his own desire to a fever pitch. When he moved his hand, she responded with a blissful sigh that touched a tender place in his soul. Her hips began to shift, her sighs coming between broken breaths as he continued to caress her, driving them both to the brink.

"I'm ready," she breathed in a velvet-edged whisper.

"Aye, you're ready." He moved over her, settling himself into the cradle of her thighs. Poised to enter her, he gritted his teeth and paused. "Are you sure, my love?"

Her answer was a simple "Yes," her voice laced with wonder. Her hands came around his back and hugged tight. And he slid home, finding sweet glory in the feel of her taking him into herself. He held there, savoring her heat, until, with a tiny whimper that set his heart to singing, she arched under him.

This, Clarice thought, was the real fairytale come true. They moved together in perfect harmony, a slow, thrilling cadence that made passion radiate from deep within her.

Making love.

It was the perfect—the only—way to describe it.

Then faster they moved, until she couldn't think at all. Until, in a brilliant burst of fiery sensation, she catapulted out of her old world and into a new one, a world brimming with love and shining promise.

Across the room, the last candle sputtered and died. Pressed against him in the darkness, as close as two people could be, she could feel Cameron's heart beat in a rhythm to match her own. She reached for his face and took it between her hands. His cheeks were slightly rough beneath her fingers, just enough to remind her that, incredible though it seemed, she shared her bed with a living, breathing man.