Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] (11 page)

Irene didn’t know what to think. Or perhaps, more accurately, she had no interest in thinking at all. She’d never believed she would go to a man’s bed outside of wedlock, but the night had run away with her. Worse yet, she had wanted it to happen. Ever since that morning when they’d danced in the inn, she had dreamed of this. Except her imagination could not compare to the reality of his touch.

It was the way he went slow with her. Her husband had been an active man: wild and quick everywhere including their bed. She had not dreamed that a man might go slow—that he might relish a simple touch, the gentle build that became a crescendo, to a dizzying, perfect experience.

But Grant did. And as he pulled off her shoes, she felt that patient attention. She closed her eyes, glorying in the sensation of his hands holding her leg high, while the air hit her inner flesh. She felt his hands so large and strong slide up her leg to the top of her silk stocking. She felt his mouth at the line between silk and skin, wet and delicious, as he nuzzled her. Then slowly, the fastening loosened, and she abruptly looked at him.

“Did you just untie that with your teeth?”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her—grinning—with the white ribbon trailing from his teeth. “Someday I should like to see if I can undress you completely using just my mouth. Quite the challenge, don’t you think?”

She stared at him, uncertain what to say. In the end, she giggled. “I think you might have trouble with some of the buttons, especially if they are tight.”

“Not if I bite them off.”

She blinked. “You mean to destroy the dress?”

“It’s one way of getting you naked.”

She nodded. “I suppose it is, but hardly that difficult. The real challenge would be to do it without destroying the gown.”

He straightened up from her leg, his expression one of mock insult. “You think it’s easy to bite a dress off a woman?”

“Of course it is. If you have the time, I suppose a man could chew off any manner of attire.”

“Hmmm,” he said, apparently thinking about it. She might have said something, except that his clever fingers had begun to roll the stocking down her leg. He moved smoothly, his fingers spanning her thigh before pushing. Everything before had been soft caresses, but this was a deeper push, harder into her leg. How marvelous the stretch of muscles, the ever so slight kneading of his fingers, all the way down calf, ankle, and foot.

“My God,” she breathed. “That’s amazing!”

“You are not used to dancing.”

She smiled. “I haven’t done it for years.”

His eyes actually twinkled. “Well, now we’re going to do something better than dancing.”

“What could that be?” she asked in mock innocence.

He raised her other leg, pulling it high so he could untie the other stocking. Or so she thought. But instead of stroking that thigh, his hand slid up her naked leg. Higher and higher, until he pushed himself inside her. One thick finger—his thumb, she thought—and the invasion was so wonderful she arched off the bed with a gasp.

“Mmmm,” he said, the sound almost a purr of delight. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back while inside her, as his thumb circled in the most amazing way. “I knew you would be perfect.”

If she hadn’t been clenching and releasing around his finger, she might have answered. She might have said that she was simply his instrument. But she couldn’t speak, not with her breath catching every time he rolled his thumb.

She felt his fingers slowly stroke her spread thighs. The sensations were overpowering, her body too sensitive, so she tensed. He stilled until her breath eased, then he caressed her again—just a finger on each hand brushing back and forth across her skin. It was as if he couldn’t resist touching her, and she smiled at the thought.

“Will you join me now?” she asked, her mind not really engaged in what she said. It was too bold a thing, too intimate to ask. So she didn’t think, she just spoke. “There has been an emptiness inside me for so long.”

His fingers paused. “You said that before. What does it mean?”

She opened her eyes and caught his gaze. “That I want you to fill me.”

He pressed a kiss to her upraised knee. “Nothing would make me happier. But are you sure you’re ready?”

She’d been ready for years, but she didn’t say that. Sometimes, she thought the loneliness of the last few years would consume her. Suck her away until there was nothing left but an empty shell.

Logically, she knew that having a man between her thighs would not fill the ache. It was not the answer to her pain, but in this moment, on this magical night, she didn’t believe in logic. She didn’t accept reason or doubts or fear. She simply wanted. So she begged him for more. She asked with her eyes and with her touch. She reached down to help him with his pants, but her fingers were too clumsy, and he stepped quickly out of reach.

She watched as he unbuttoned his attire and pushed it from his hips. Shoes and stockings were long gone, and all that remained was the stark white bandage on his belly, partially hidden by the thick stalk of his arousal.

She reached for his cock, intrigued by the reddish color and the smooth head. She wanted to touch the heat of him and feel the pulse of his desire in her hand. She made to sit up, but he shook his head.

“If you touch it, I will explode.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Another time then.” She hadn’t meant to suggest they repeat this night. The logistics alone could be difficult. But she was not thinking right now, and so her wants slipped out into the night air without restraint. What she wanted was more of this. More of him.

He flashed her a grin. “Whenever you want,” he said. “However often you want.”

“Now,” she said. “Right now.”

He started crawling toward her. She shifted more onto the mattress to give him room. He moved between her legs, stopping long enough to lean down and suckle her right breast. She gasped, loving the brush of his tongue, the pull of his lips, and the way he used his teeth just when she needed more.

Then he let her go. “A symphony,” he whispered. “I hear a full symphony.”

She laughed as soon as she caught her breath. “You are so poetic, Mr. Grant. I had no idea.”

He quirked his brows. “Neither did I.” Then he gently settled his weight upon her.

She released a sigh of delight, feeling his head at her entrance. His aim was unerring, and she flexed her hips enough to push at him, hoping to draw him inside.

“So impatient,” he said with a chuckle. “I like that in a woman.”

“So thick and strong,” she answered. “I like that in a man.”

“Are you sure?” He began to push inside her, moving slowly. The first tiny bit was easy. She was slick, and his aim was true. But then she began to feel his full girth. It stretched her in the most wonderful way.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sure.”

He’d closed his eyes, and now his face took on an ecstatic look. “So tight,” he groaned. Then he pushed in another inch. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” She was too breathless to say more. Especially as she shifted her hips, drawing him deeper. He groaned again. Then he opened his eyes, and their gazes caught. His face was in shadow, but there was enough light to see him—nostrils stretched tight, mouth set in a clenched ferocity. But what held her so strongly were his eyes. They seemed to burn with intensity. He was looking straight at her—straight
into
her—and what he saw pleased him.

She stretched up as she tried to meet his lips. But she couldn’t, and he was still pushing. So she tilted her head back and arched. Fuller, deeper, harder—she loved every second of his slow penetration.

He paused, and she clenched him, trying to hold him even more tightly. “Don’t stop,” she cried.

“Couldn’t. Not even… if I wanted.”

Then he was finally—wonderfully—seated. Deeply embedded inside her, and she felt so full. He was thick and pulsing with life. His weight pressed her down, and she loved that she could feel his heat inside and out. She raised her knees, trying to grip him. She never wanted him to leave.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and caught his gaze. She didn’t speak, but reached to stroke his forehead and trail her fingers into his hair. His curls brushed the back of her hand—so soft. And yet below, so hard.

“Irene?”

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “I want it all.”

His smile was almost feral. Then he began to move.

Gentle at first. A withdrawal that had her whimpering. The emptiness caved in her belly and pulled at her insides. She tightened her legs along his flanks, and he growled.

“I’m trying to go slow,” he said, his voice tight.

“Sweet heaven, why?”

“Because you’re worth enjoying.” Then he waited, poised at a place nearly out, but not quite. Then he began the return, pushing harder this time. Faster.

“Not slow, Grant.” She suddenly arched her hips so that he fell hard against her pelvis. She cried out at the impact, loving the sharp, hard press of it. “Now. Right now.”

He looked down, deeply embedded and refusing to move. “I’d like my kiss now, Irene.”

“What?” she gasped.

“You promised me two kisses.”

“I gave you—”

“One. Just one.”

She laughed, and the sensations had them both groaning. “We’ve been kissing for hours!”

“That was
me
kissing you. I want my second kiss, and I won’t move until I get it.”

She reached up and grabbed hold of his head. She pulled him down to her and fused their mouths together. The kiss was deep and frenetic. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, and he dueled with her, quickly dominating. Then he pushed into her mouth, moving into her with a speed that left her dizzy.

Almost without her realizing it, he began to thrust. The withdrawal was slow and unsteady, jerking backwards, but not so far as to lose his place. She moved with him, arching first, then gripping his return. And together the pace built.

Out, in.

Faster—

Out, in.

Harder—

Out, in.

He lifted his head. Their eyes met and held.

No breath to speak.

Out, in.

She gripped him without relenting.

He fought her grip.

Drawing out, slamming in.

Hard!

The trigger inside her clicked. Her body clenched and exploded.

Yes!

He bellowed, his whole body jerking against her.

His explosion filled her. Mind and body pounding to his rhythm.

She squeezed him, over and over.

He flooded her with heavy pulses.

Yesyesyes!

A steady beat of joy.

Irene woke feeling both wonderful and strange. Unfamiliar bed, unfamiliar room, but the scent of lovemaking and the warm body spooned against her brought back all the glorious memories of the night before. Which made everything all the more complicated. She was beyond happy about last night, and yet she couldn’t deny that she’d stepped into unfamiliar waters. And she wasn’t the least bit comfortable with her decision.

Then again, she thought as her eyes drifted closed, it was wonderful to feel a man, his organ stiffening as she stirred. She could stretch into him—encourage a return to last night’s activities. But if they started that again, who knew how long she’d linger here? Her mind was already churning with what she would say to her in-laws. What if they discovered she had not stayed with Wendy last night? What would they say? What would they think?

So she gingerly inched out of bed, feeling the loss of his heat keenly. There was enough light coming from the window to see, and she slipped behind his dressing screen to perform her morning ablutions. But when she was done, she realized she was completely naked, and her clothing lay in a neat pile across the room.

Frowning, she looked around the tiny area behind the dressing screen. For a member of the aristocracy, Grant had precious little attire, and most of it meant for Mr. Grant, rather than Lord Crowle. She lifted up one of his work shirts, feeling the softness of well-worn cotton. It was large, but she slipped it on, loving the scent and feel. She felt surrounded by him, even though she was afraid to step out and face him.

What a contrary creature she was! So taking a deep breath, she steeled her spine and slipped from behind the screen.

He was awake, lying stretched and lazy like a morning cat on the bed. His gaze followed her movements, and a smile curved his sensuous mouth.

“I like the look of you in my shirt.”

“I… um… I like the feel. Do you mind?”

He shook his head slowly then peeled back the covers on the bed. “Come let me see if it feels as soft as it looks.”

Her eyebrows rose. She knew he was teasing her, but she was not quite ready to return to bed. Not when he played the indolent aristocrat so well. It felt discordant, and so she stayed back. “This is your shirt, Grant,” she said quietly. “You know exactly how it feels.”

“Not when it’s against your skin. Not when…” He bit his lip, slowly straightening on the bed as he looked at her. Then his expression changed into one of chagrin. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. You’re not the usual flyer, and this must feel awkward.”

She blinked, startled by his sudden shift from casual seduction to honest, plain speaking. It was dizzying how quickly he became Mr. Grant—a simple manager of a factory. She swallowed and nodded.

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Of course not.” He shifted on the bed, adjusting to face her directly. “I know you probably want to rush home, but if you have the time… I should like to talk with you. For a little bit.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “So much happened last night that I’m feeling rather disoriented from it all.”

She understood exactly, and so she settled on the edge of the bed. He didn’t move to draw her closer, but she saw his nearest hand twitch as if he wanted to touch her. She wanted it too, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to reach for him. Not yet.

They sat in silence for a moment, both struggling for something to say. He looked at her, and for a moment she thought there was longing in his eyes. A desperate hunger quickly buried under a tide of uncertainty.

“You’re not hurt, are you? I mean from what we did. Or the fight earlier.”

“No, no,” she said. “I’m fine. A little sore maybe, but it’s a nice kind of soreness.”

He flashed her a smile.

“And you?” she asked. “We should replace your bandage.”

He looked down. Sometime in the night, he’d discarded the cumbersome linen. He lifted his torso enough to expose his wound to the light. “It looks good,” he said. Then he gingerly touched around it, pressing until he winced. “Not too painful.”

She abruptly grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his wound. “Don’t fiddle with it. You don’t want to re-open it.”

He shot her a wry glance. “If it didn’t burst wide open last night, then I doubt poking at it now will have any effect. It wasn’t that deep a cut.” He grimaced and pulled his foot from beneath the cover. “The real problem is my ankle. That’s why I couldn’t walk very well. I think I wrenched it during the fight.”

She peered at it while he began poking there. It did appear a little swollen. “Just take care of yourself.”

He smiled as he looked back at her. Then he gently twisted his hand in her grip until he could entwine his fingers with hers. “I’ll be careful,” he said. Then he took a breath. “I’ve been thinking about that attack. There was something wrong about it.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Of course it was wrong! A man came at us with a knife.”

“That’s just it. He ran at us with his knife drawn. The normal footpad would stop and demand money. Too risky with just the one against us two.”

“I was no help at all in the fight.”

“On the contrary, you screamed. You fought.”

“Badly and very little. It happened so fast.”

“You were a big help, and you got me to the inn.” He drew her hand to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss to the back of her hand. It was a courtly gesture, but it was also filled with genuine warmth, and she flushed at his attention. Especially as his fingertips stroked the inside of her palm. It was ridiculous to feel this shy. She wasn’t a green girl, and yet everything he did with her, every way he looked at her, felt fresh and new. She peered at him, seeing him watch her with a steady, patient gaze.

Eventually, his thoughts shifted. She knew because his gaze grew less intense, more abstract. “What did the constable say?”

She shrugged. “That next time we should hand over our money. That we were fortunate you got off so lightly.”

Grant grimaced. “That’s just it. He didn’t
ask
for our money. He just attacked.”

She thought back and realized he was right. “But why…” Her words trailed away, and a creeping sense of terror stole over her. She bit her lip, refusing to cry out, and her fingers tightened hard on Grant’s hand.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice sharp with alarm. “Irene?”

She shook her head. “I thought I was done with feeling afraid. I thought it was over.”

He scooted across the bed and gathered her into his arms. She had pulled so tight into herself that she didn’t want to move at first. But his touch was gentle even as he steadily tugged her close. A moment later, she crumpled and burrowed into his arms like a terrified kitten.

“I am being silly,” she said to herself.

“Maybe not. Tell me what made you so afraid.”

She took a deep breath and tried to order her thoughts. It took awhile, but cradled as she was in his arms, she found the strength to talk about her fears. “I started working for Helaine almost a year ago. Before that, I was… floating.”

“Floating?”

“Just existing. Living without purpose. Counting the ticks of the clock in my room. Maybe I was lost in grief, but it felt more like I had no direction to any part of my day or night. My every need was taken care of. My in-laws are lovely people, but there was no reason to get up every morning because there was absolutely nothing to do.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

She shot him a skeptical look. “Grant, you run a mill. And you are an earl. I doubt you have ever been so lost.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ve had my share of useless days. None lately, but I know something of having the time hang.”

She nodded. “Helaine came and offered me the job as purchaser. Suddenly, I had a reason to rise every morning. With my father-in-law’s help, I was able to make deals for fabric and the like. Mama was appalled, but I loved it. And even she could not deny that I was happier because of the work.”

“That I understand well, though don’t tell Robert that.”

“Robert?”

“Lord Redhill, our host last night. He is the one who forced me into managing the mill. Best thing for me, though God knows I cursed it often enough.” He squeezed her. “So you see, we are not so different. Each of us working for our bread.”

“And enjoying it.”

He snorted. “I am not sure I would say that.” Then, at her look, he shrugged. “Oh very well, yes, I like my work. Or at least parts of it.” His expression turned serious. “Tell me the rest, Irene.”

“There’s not much more to tell. I started thinking someone was watching me. When I was at the dock or later at the shop. It wasn’t anything specific. Just a niggle, like a tickle at the base of my neck.”

“Did you ever see anyone?”

“I didn’t, but Penny’s fiancé did. Mr. Samuel Morrison, the Bow Street Runner. You met him last night. Anyway, he chased the boy, but was knocked on the head.”

Grant straightened, his brows drawn together in a fierce scowl. “Someone was following you?”

“Yes. Mr. Morrison said it was a street boy, probably paid to watch my movements. But he was working with a larger man. That’s who knocked Mr. Morrison out.”

“Did you ever find the man or boy?”

“No. There never was anything other than that one incident. I took precautions, of course. And I was forever looking over my shoulder, but there’s been nothing for months. I’d begun to relax again.”

“That’s very strange, you know. Being followed, then not. You never learned anything about it?”

She shook her head. “And I have talked with Mr. Morrison about it extensively. He seems to think it has something to do with Wendy, and after what she said last night with the gambling debts, I agree there’s some concern.”

“But why would the Demon follow you?”

She sighed. “That’s what Mr. Morrison asked, but I have no idea. It’s been months with no incident at all.” She tried for a smile, but she doubted she managed a good one. And he didn’t seem the least bit inclined to humor.

“I think I should talk to Mr. Morrison.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Grant, surely you have more important things to do than chase down my ghosts.”

He looked at her, silent for too long. And she realized with a bit of shock that he seemed to be at a total loss.

“Grant?”

“For five years I have lived with one goal, Irene. I had to make a success of the mill so that I could buy back my land.”

She nodded. “And did you?”

“No,” he said, the word filled with pain. “No, I didn’t. But now, I know that my brother Will managed to get it.”

“Well, that’s good. You have the land then.”

He shifted awkwardly, and she could feel his withdrawal. “It will stay in
his
family, Irene, not with the title. He’s the better man to have it. I know that. He’s always been the better steward, but now, there is nothing to support the earldom, except a crumbling castle right next to my brother’s wealthy home.” He dropped his head back until it thunked lightly against the wall. “I had meant to spend the next years working there, rebuilding it as I did the mill.”

“And now?”

He looked at her and flashed a mischievous smile. “Now I have nothing but time to spend. On you.” He rolled toward her, his expression seductive. She gasped and pulled back, but with a smile on her lips.

“Grant, I thought we were going to talk.”

He stopped and flopped back, but with an air of acceptance. He’d known she’d refuse him. “See?” he said. “If I cannot spend time
with
you, then perhaps I shall spend it
on
you. On talking with this Mr. Morrison about your mysterious followers.”

“It was a long while ago.”

“It is suspicious, and I want to know more.”

He was adamant, jaw thrust forward and expression focused. Irene felt uncomfortable at his sudden intensity. She had barely come to accept that they had spent the night together, and now, he was to investigate her mysterious attack? It seemed like too much, though logically, after their intimacies last night, a few questions with Mr. Morrison were hardly earth-shattering. Still, she tried to distract him.

“You don’t have to return to the mill?”

“I thought I’d be headed to Yorkshire now, a victorious landowner again.”

“But surely there are other things you could be doing.”

He turned to look at her, and his eyes narrowed. “You don’t want me asking questions. What haven’t you told me?”

“No, no! It’s not that. I just… I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not.”

“And you’re an earl. Grant, surely this is beneath your notice.”

He didn’t answer at first. He just looked at her, flashes of emotion shifting in his eyes. They went too fast for her to catch. In the end, he touched her cheek, and with his index finger he stroked across to her lips.

“You’re uncomfortable with me now. You don’t want to see me anymore.”

She shook her head, unable to deny the truth, even as her heart pounded in her throat. “I do,” she whispered through dry lips. “I just need a little time.”

He nodded slowly. “Perfectly understandable.” Then he shifted his hands to cup her face. He held her still as he gently settled his mouth on hers. The kiss was slow and sweet. Unable to resist, she opened to him, softening her back, melting so completely into him that when the kiss changed, she relished it.

What began gentle became more demanding. Soon his tongue was thrusting into her, and he was rolling her onto her back on the bed. He followed her down, his hands opening his shirt with ease.

She gasped as he pulled back, her breath short, her body already on fire. Looking into his eyes, she knew how easily she could lose herself in him. He was so intense, his focus so heady. When had a man looked at her with such hunger? What man had ever touched her like his next breath depended on her accepting him?

“You steal my reason,” she whispered.

“Let it go,” he answered as he brushed the edges of his shirt aside. She was naked before him, and his hand began to stroke her breast.

She closed her eyes, feeling the strength in his hands, the rough brush of his callouses on her skin, and the pinch and twist he did to her nipples. Her belly trembled, and she went liquid. How easily he aroused her. She ought to be frightened—she was frightened—but not enough to stop him.