Once an Innocent (27 page)

She was going to get married. Finally! At last, Naomi would have a family and home of her own. A wellspring of joy spilled from her heart and suffused her body all the way to her fingertips.

If only her betrothed would return home safely, perhaps she could truly relax and enjoy being newly engaged. In the meantime, she must see to the ladies. And look in on Lord Gray, she reminded herself. The poor man might be in need of something.

As the hours ticked by, Naomi kept herself busy. She accompanied Miss Knight on the pianoforte while that lady practiced a piece to sing after supper. Clara sought her advice on the matter of a damaged chair requiring reupholstering. She visited the Grays and commiserated with Lady Gray over her husband’s piteous state.

None of these activities could wholly alleviate the worry prickling the back of her head. Thinking of Jordan, out there in the cold rain, more than once drove her to a window, peering into the mist for any sign of him or his companions.

At last, when the ladies were sitting down to tea, the sounds of the great front door closing and male voices laughing filled the parlor. An unacknowledged tension in the room eased.

He’s safe.
She restrained the urge to leap to her feet and find him. If there had been any symptom of distress in what she’d heard of the gentlemen’s arrival, nothing in the world could have stopped her from dashing to his side. But he was safe, and she had to play her part.

As soon as she could reasonably extract herself from the company, however, she excused herself to rest before supper. Up the stairs she went at a sedate pace, exchanging pleasantries with the guests she passed.

When she reached the correct corridor and found it clear of witnesses, she dashed on tiptoe toward what had to be the master bedchamber. The portal began to swing open. Naomi ducked into the neighboring room, which was open.

Her back pressed to the wall, she waited while a man passed. She peeked out to see the back of a man, shorter, slighter, and browner of hair than Jordan. His valet, she supposed.

“What are you doing?”

Naomi yelped and spun, her hands clapped to her throat.

Jordan leaned against a doorframe on the other side of the room. His face looked freshly scrubbed, and he’d already changed for supper.

“I was looking for you,” she said quietly, not wanting her voice to carry into the corridor. A quick look around told her she was in a lady’s sitting room. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. You left in such a hurry earlier.”

His heavy-lidded eyes took on a heated look as he pushed away from the door and sauntered to where she stood. He stopped just inches away from her. Their gazes held while he closed the door. “Perfectly well, thank you for asking.”

The proximity of so much large, solid male made her skin feel sensitized. “Does Mr. Ditman know about Enrique?”

A shadow crossed Jordan’s face. “No, no one — ” His lips pressed together. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Well, he asked me earlier if I’d seen a French boy. And he frightened Kate the other night. He tried to make her go off with him alone. Jordan, I don’t trust him. How well do you know this man?”

His palms grazed along the curve of her hips and his eyes settled on her chest. “Fitzhugh Ditman and I were taken prisoner together in Spain. Our captors tortured us, but Fitz got the worst of it. That’s where these came from,” he said, turning his head to display the scar on his cheek. “We worked together to escape. He’s not a man of graces and airs, but I trust him.”

Capture. Torture. My God.
He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. She knew something of being held against one’s will, thanks to the actions of a vengeful madwoman last year. She knew what it was to fear for her life, to suddenly feel the need to look over her shoulder, even now, a year after she had been taken hostage. No wonder Jordan struggled with connecting to people.

She had no evidence against Mr. Ditman, only the uneasy feeling he aroused whenever she was near him. And maybe that was the result of the torture he’d endured. It was so hard to be certain of anything anymore.

Trying to put the gruff man out of her mind, she glanced about the room, then flicked her eyes to Jordan. “What were you doing in here?”

His half smile tugged at the lower end of his scar. Naomi liked how it seemed to smile at her whenever Jordan did, so different from Mr. Ditman’s forbidding wound.

“I was thinking about you occupying this suite,” he said lightly, “and here you are.”

“This is the lady’s boudoir, I take it?”

A warm hand cupped her jaw and tilted her face.
“You
are the lady, pet. These are
your
rooms.” Their lips brushed and clung together for just a few seconds. “Would you like to see?”

At her nod, he held her hand while they took a turn about the boudoir. Sage-green silk covered the walls. An ecru chaise longue waited beside the fireplace for a lady to recline upon it. Polished silver accents — frames, a tea service, a plant stand — glittered, like jewels strewn about the room.

“These were all my mother’s things,” he said. “You must have whatever you like. Redecorate any way you please.”

She squeezed his hand as a flush of pleasure swept through her. At last, everything she’d yearned for would soon be hers. It wasn’t the sumptuous room that made her happy, but the knowledge that it was
hers
. Her place, where she belonged, with a man who cared for her. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Your mother had exquisite taste. For the time being, I think I shall leave this room just the way it is.”

“As you like.”

He led her into the adjoining room, the bedchamber. The color scheme was watery shades of blue with touches of rose gold. The bed was made of pale maple; each of its four posts was intricately carved with vines and leaves climbing up to the canopy.

Naomi lightly ran her fingers along the elaborate design. “It’s beautiful.”

Jordan’s arms wrapped around her from behind. “It will look better with you in it.” The tip of his tongue flicked the sensitive skin behind her ear, then followed the curve of her neck. “And you will look better with me in you.”

Naomi gasped. Her face flamed at his outrageous remark, but she couldn’t deny its effect. Her breasts grew heavy. The flesh at the juncture of her thighs ached for his touch. She turned in his arms and pulled his face down. Tiny laps at the seam of his lips convinced him to open. A groan rumbled in his chest. The kiss deepened as their tongues danced.

There was a sudden sensation of vertigo, until she realized he had maneuvered her onto the bed. For a moment, his weight pressed her into the satin duvet. The feeling of his hard length cradled against her brought all the feminine parts of her body flaring to life. Instinctively, her hips rocked up to receive him, only to encounter layers of clothes in the way.

A low chuckle raised gooseflesh on her arms. “So eager.” He drew the words out, until they were as sweet and seductive as the caramels she’d had that morning.

“It feels right,” she whispered in breathless explanation.

“Shh,” he soothed, stroking down her ribs with the back of his hand. “I can’t have you again, Naomi. Not like this morning.”

She made a whimpering sound of protest. Her body assured her that he could and very well
should
have her again. And perhaps again after that.

“There isn’t enough time right now,” he answered her wordless question. His shadow beard raked across her collarbone while his hand covered her breast. “The next time I’m inside you, I won’t leave for hours. But I want to watch you come again. I didn’t properly savor the moment this morning.”

Even as the pulsing heat began building down low, part of her mind tucked away the new vocabulary word for later contemplation.
Come
. He didn’t use it the usual way; the new implications excited her.

She explored the broad expanse of his back, feeling the play of hard muscles as he smoothly moved over her. If only he were bare. She longed to explore his body until she knew it as well as her own.

Jordan knelt back and grasped her ankles. A sharp thrill shot through Naomi’s core, causing her to moan and lift her hips again. Slowly, his hands followed her legs, nudging them apart and pushing her skirt as he went, until it piled around her waist.

“So beautiful,” he let out on a sigh. His head dipped and he kissed the inside of her knee, then laid a trail of teasing nips and kisses up her inner thigh. When he’d almost reached her apex, Naomi held her breath, wondering what he was going to do. Surely, he didn’t mean to kiss her
there
, as well!

No. His tongue instead traced the rise of her hipbone, then dipped into the hollow beside her belly. Her abdomen trembled; her hands raked through his hair and over his scalp, holding him close. His fingers covered her sex and she felt herself plump in his hand. Deftly, he parted her folds and spread the slickness up and around her tight bead. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and exhaled a strangled moan instead.

“I love how wet you are.” His eyes regarded her from beneath a fringe of dark lashes, the blue irises bright with wicked intent. “Is this for me, sweetheart?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed.

“Just for me?” A finger pressed into her and withdrew.

She mewled. “Just you.” Her heart pounded in her ears. “Never felt this way before.”

Two fingers plunged inside, stretching skin still a little sore from this morning’s inaugural breach. His hand slowly pumped between her legs. Her thighs tensed as the pressure mounted.

“You feel so good,” he said. “I want to bury my cock here and feel you wring every drop from me.”

The forbidden words seduced her as much as his touch. Her head thrashed to the side. Her knees drew up, flagrantly offering him more. Everything.

His teeth closed over her hipbone, then his mouth dragged to her navel, where his tongue swirled. “I want to spend myself in you until you’re too sore to walk. I want to know what you taste like.”

That wicked tongue found its way to the taut bundle of nerves and gently lapped it. Naomi’s spine arched. Her shoulder blades dug into the satin duvet; her fingers twisted into his hair. “Oh, that feels so … ” There wasn’t a word to describe it.

Jordan’s mouth moved lower. He parted her nether lips and held them open, completely vulnerable to his erotic onslaught. He licked the length of her swollen flesh and dipped his tongue into her entrance, over and over, while his thumb worked deftly at her tender bud. The pleasure was an entity unto itself, taking over her, possessing her. “Yes, Jordan, yes. Don’t stop. Oh, please!”

A throaty laugh vibrated against her sensitized tissues. “Don’t stop what, pet?”

She let out a keening sound. So close. So close.

Suddenly he was over her; his hand now driving her toward the brink. She clung to his neck and lifted her face. He pushed her down again with his weight, delivering a bruising kiss flavored with her own essence. “Taste,” he whispered. “You’re sweeter than wine.” His tongue speared into her mouth with the same rhythm as his hand, pinning her to the bed, like a butterfly specimen.

He ruthlessly broke the kiss. Hot, moist breath covered her throat. “Naomi,” he growled in her ear, “I want to fuck you.”

And she was gone. Over the edge, falling through a chasm of ecstasy. Jordan took her cries in his mouth, moaning his approval as her climax went on and on.

As she began to return to earth, he cupped her sex in his hand. She twitched against his palm, and a shudder racked her body. “You are magnificent,” he said reverently. “And you are mine.”

Her heart swelled with joy. It wasn’t a declaration of love, not yet. But it would be.

When he kissed her this time, it was slow and tender. She caressed his face, wishing she could give him pleasure like he’d just given her.

She said so, and his eyes blazed. He held her gaze as he very deliberately lifted his hand and put his fingers in his mouth. His lids drooped and he made a satisfied sound. Naomi gasped when she realized what he was doing. “You have given me pleasure, sweetheart,” he said. “Watching you writhe in ecstasy is the image I’ll be taking with me to bed tonight.”

He laid down and gathered her into his arms. Nestled against Jordan, Naomi couldn’t imagine life feeling any better than it did right now. But it would, after they were married. They would be free to take their pleasure whenever they wished. Lintern Abbey would be her proper home. Jordan would be her husband.

Still floating in a drowsy afterglow, she asked, “Will you go see Marshall now?” They would want the banns read as soon as possible, of course.

His arms tensed. “Not at once. I’m hosting a large group of people.”

She wiggled out of his grasp and lifted her face. “Write him, then. I’m sure he’d come.”

“No,” he said, sounding exasperated. “He won’t leave Isabelle. Would you want him to do that? To leave her alone in her condition?”

“Of course not.” All the warm feelings inside her started to cool and congeal. “But you must speak to him as soon as possible.”

He moved off the bed and gave her a hand to assist her to her feet. “I will speak to him —
when
it’s possible. It isn’t right now, my dear.”

Where was her fiery, generous lover of just moments ago? Every line in his posture was taut, every muscle locked in stubbornness. There was no point wasting another breath.

If he really thought they should marry, wouldn’t he reach out to Marshall at once? Why delay, when they’d already anticipated their wedding night? Hurt and confusion clouded her mind. Without another word, Naomi abandoned the sumptuous chambers of the Viscountesses Freese, wondering if she’d made a terrible mistake.

Sleeplessness did strange things to the mind and body.

Naomi felt as if she was falling ill. Her cheeks were hot; her hands were cold. What she needed was a quiet morning in bed, but it wasn’t to be. While her eyes burned for rest, her mind whirred with activity. A ball of nervous energy settled in her middle and sent tentacles through her limbs. She could scarcely sit still, much less relax in bed.