Leslie LaFoy (43 page)

She cried out, instinctively trying to pull away from him. He held her gently but firmly in place, going still
inside her. Only when she stopped struggling did he release his hold. Slowly leaning forward, he put his hands on either side of her head, then eased down to kiss the tears from her cheeks and whisper, “It's done, sweetheart. The pain will fade in just a minute or two. And it will never hurt like that again.”

She took a shuddering breath and bravely tried to smile for him. “I won't move until you want me to,” he promised, searching her eyes. “You tell me when the pain is gone.”

She nodded and touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip. He lowered his head and kissed her lightly. His reward was a contented sigh as her arms twined around his neck.

Claire clung to him, her desires stirred and fueled by the tender hunger of his kisses. She groaned in protest as he drew his lips from hers, sighed as he pressed a trail of kisses down her throat and lower, to her breasts. He suckled a peak, gently at first and then harder, sending waves of pleasure washing over her to steal her breath and ignite her blood.

Her senses consumed by a need to touch him, to lose herself in him, she arched up in instinctive plea. The sensation was sudden and exquisitely intense, arcing from her womb to her breasts and then deep into her soul. She gasped in wonder and deliberately arched again, driven by a wholly new kind of hunger.

“Oh, yes, sweetheart.”

She opened her eyes to find Devon smiling down at her, his eyes bright and his breathing every bit as shallow and uneven as her own.

“Do it again.”

Her heart thundering, she obliged. Slowly she arched up, reveling in the sweet heat, feeling it swell when Devon deliberately drove down to meet it. And then there was only the ghost of it, and Devon pulled back, smiling, whispering, “Again.”

He matched her, met her, and the heat was heavier and brighter, the swell larger and more compelling. It faded again, but not as quickly; the promise of it was still there when she arched again. And again Devon matched and met her, his smile ebbing away as he held himself deep within her, as his eyes widened and the swell of sensation rose higher still.

There was more, she could feel it building, beckoning, just beyond her reach. “Devon,” she cried, grasping his shoulders, desperately straining up. He answered with his body, knowing what she wanted, giving her what she needed. The swells came one right after the other, ever closer, sweeping through her, each more engulfing than the one before, each propelling her higher, closer. And then they came a hundredfold, one on top of the other, all at once, shuddering through her, consuming her in a blinding burst of completion.

Her fulfillment caught him and held him deep, pulling him over the crest and into his own long, explosive culmination. Gasping and spent, he lowered himself, covering Claire with his body and wrapping her in his arms. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he rolled onto his side with her, holding her close and wanting to never let her go. Her head pillowed in his arm, she snuggled against him and laid her hand on his hip.

He was in heaven, blissfully satisfied and complete. God, that every day of the rest of his life could be so gratifying. Claire stirred, rubbing her cheek against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

It took every ounce of his remaining energy to smile. “Am I all right? Sweetheart, only you would think to ask that.” He sighed and kissed her again. “Yes, I'm all right. And you? Did I abuse you?”

“Hardly,” she answered with a quiet chuckle. Then she slowly drew back so that she could meet this gaze. “But you did frighten me, Devon. The look in your eyes
when you left Darice's room… I was afraid you'd harm yourself.”

It seemed so long ago. A memory borrowed from the lifetime of another man. “I think the thought crossed my mind.”

“Has it gone now?”

“Is that why you sacrificed yourself?” he asked, the mere possibility tearing at his heart. “To distract me?”

“I don't think that anything so enjoyable can be considered a sacrifice,” she replied, her sigh utterly satisfied. “And when it comes to being distracted… I've never met anyone else who can make me so completely forget the reasons I begin a course.”

“Then it's a miracle that anything gets done around here at all,” he observed. She settled back against him, wriggling to press as much of herself along him as she could. “Are you cold?”

It took effort to focus her attention on anything beyond the contentment. It was still raining outside and the wind was still blowing. And yes, her feet were chilled. “A little.”

He hugged her tight and then slipped away from her, saying. “Wait right here while I close the windows and add a log to the fire.”

Forced out of her stupor, she sat up, starting at the protest of muscles she hadn't known she possessed.

“Not that closing windows and stoking the fire are going to help matters all that much,” Devon went on cheerfully as he moved around the room and she gingerly slipped off the bed to retrieve the coverlet. “This is the draftiest damn house I've ever been in. Someday I'm going to tear out every window in it and replace them with some that actually keep out the wind and dirt.”

“I don't think it's all that bad,” she countered, putting the coverlet back on the bed and then sliding beneath it. “It's certainly not the draftiest house I've ever been in.”

“But it could be so much better than it is.”

He teetered on bankruptcy and was thinking about the day when he could make Rosewind the house of his expectations and dreams. He'd do it. There wasn't a doubt in her mind. Devon was a very determined man. And a delight for the eyes, too. She smiled, watching his shoulder muscles bunch and flex as he closed the last window, thrilling to the sight of his thighs and buttocks as he crossed to the hearth, bent down, and added a good-sized piece of wood to the dwindling fire. He was the most magnificent creature she'd ever seen. Sleek and rippled, powerful. And he was hers. Her husband, her lover. And to think how much she'd resented being forced to marry him, how badly she'd once wanted to escape.

He slipped back into bed and drew her into his arms, asking, “What do you know about cattle?”

She had no idea where the question had come from or where it was going. Laughing, she answered, “You keep an eye on their hooves when you're milking them.”

“I meant about managing a herd. I've been thinking that I need to get some cattle. Food crops are a good start in broadening the base of Rosewind's production, but it still seems like a matter of having all my eggs in one basket.”

She'd never seen this side of him—the lighthearted dreamer. And she loved him all the more for his being able to do it. “You should probably get some more chickens, too.”

“You're right. How about a couple more pigs while we're diversifying?”

“And what are you going to feed all these animals, Noah?”

“I need to set aside some land for forage crops, don't I?”

“And build sheds and pens for your menagerie as well,” she pointed out. “You can't properly care for an
animal if it's allowed to run willy-nilly through the woods and fields. British farmers consider that American practice to be an appalling thing, you know.”

He chuckled dryly. “Not to mention that they have a tendency to wander off and never return. The very last thing I ever said to my father was that instead of buying another cow, he ought to just tie the money to the tail of a kite and let it go into the wind.”

“Did he buy the cow anyway?”

“I have no idea,” he replied with another chuckle. “He went to James City on the pretext of doing so.” He paused and when he spoke again his voice was somber. “His heart gave out while administering to the needs of his mistress, and rather than risk the embarrassment of being found in her bed, he stumbled out of her house to drop dead on a main street. Absolutely stark naked. Given the general nature of public comment when I went to retrieve him… Well, I wasn't inclined to tarry long enough to make any inquiries about a cow.”

“Oh, Devon. How awful. I hope your mother never heard the story.”

“I certainly didn't tell her. But funerals being the kind of affairs they are, I'm sure she heard the whispers. I suspect that she wasn't all that shocked by the circumstances of his passing. The mistress that killed him wasn't the first one he'd ever had. He spent his entire life pursuing women and illusions of grandeur. Mother's spent hers cultivating blindness to an art.”

“So I've noticed,” Claire admitted sadly. “I suppose, though, that it was the only way she knew how to cope with the heartache of his betrayals.”

Devon drew back and gently tilted her face up. “I promise you that there will never be a mistress. Only you, Claire.”

“You're planning to keep me?”

For as long as I can
. But now wasn't the time to talk of war and the hard decisions it would require. He
wanted to live in hope until he didn't have any other choice. “I do believe we've burnt the annulment bridge.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Could we burn it again? Just to be sure?”

Laughing, happier than he had ever been in his life, Devon rolled onto his back, drawing her with him and settling her across his hips.

T
HE WORLD WAS STILL BLACK
, still wet, when Claire rolled over in her sleep and reached out for him. Her eyes came instantly open and he stepped back to the bed. “I didn't mean to wake you,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss her. “Go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going?” she asked groggily. “It's still dark.”

“Darice and Elsbeth are leaving at dawn and I'll be damned if anything delays their departure. I'm off to put baggage into the carriage while her driver tries to put her horses back into their traces.”

She thought about it a minute, daintily stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, and then asked, “When you're done, you'll come back to bed?”

“Will you still be in it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I won't waste any time,” he promised, kissing her again and then stepping away. “Sleep while you can.”

She smiled and her eyes drifted closed. Grinning, Devon slipped silently out of the room and made his way down the hall, listening to the sounds of the house coming awake. He could hear Wyndom moving behind his closed door, could hear the sounds of hasty packing from the end of the hall where Elsbeth and Darice were. And from the floor below there drifted up the delicious scent of food along with the unmistakable sounds of

Edmund Cantrell's cursing and trunks being dragged across the foyer floor.

Making his way down the stairs to join his friend at the task of hauling Darice Lytton's baggage back out into the rain, Devon silently resolved to do no more than load the carriage. With the vehicle having been left out all night, getting the horses hitched back into the drenched harnesses was going to be miserable, time-consuming work.

Devon smiled. A choice between wresting horses and fighting wet leather or climbing into bed and making love with Claire wasn't a choice at all.

HE RATTLING OF CHINA
called her from sleep. Claire smiled, stretched languidly, and slowly opened her eyes. And immediately wished she hadn't.