Counterfeit Countess (27 page)

On the pretext of reaching for the buttered carrots, Faith contrived to nudge him. He must have made a sound when he tried to suppress his inappropriate sound of derision. He turned his head
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and grinned, so fast only she should see it.

She grinned back, apparently not caring who saw her. He liked that about her.

“I paid an overdue visit today,” he told her. Lady Graywood glanced at him.

“You have acquaintances in London?”

At least John had taken her attention, giving Edward a chance to recover from her interrogation. “Only military ones. This one is the highest. I paid a visit to the Duke of Wellington.”

The dowager raised a brow. “Indeed? I wasn’t aware you knew his grace personally.”

“Yes, he knew me. I had the fortune to exchange views with him on several occasions. The duke preferred to discuss his strategies with his officers in the field, who had reviewed the terrain.”

Belatedly, he realised if he carried on discussing his war years he might become one of those military bores who occupied a corner in his club, desperately engaging the attention of anyone who sat with him. The glory years. Not that John saw them that way. “The duke had heard of my return to London, of course, but he waited for me to come to him. He always said he was available to any of us if we needed him. I should have remembered that sooner.” He regarded Wellington as a brilliant commander and meticulous planner. He’d learned a lot from the man his troops called Old Nosey. “He professed himself glad to see me, and he’s invited me to attend the Waterloo Dinner next month.”

The dowager gasped. The duke invited only thirty-seven or at the most thirty-eight men to the dinner commemorating the battle.

It was an extremely prestigious event, conferring serious favour.

“He says he’ll try to come to the ball and he’ll mention it in a few circles.” He should tell the whole story. “He said he is not looked on highly by the most fashionable.” He paused. “However, with my efforts and with his I can confidently state the ball will not be completely devoid of company.”

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“Indeed, sir, men in red coats often attract the highest sticklers.

Although many are younger sons, they are frequently generously endowed with everything a young lady would wish for.”

Faith choked. John decided she’d pay for that later, in the most pleasurable way. Of course she meant the men in question could to take care of fastidious young ladies like Charlotte and Louise. So if Edward failed to satisfy in some way, the dowager would have others in reserve. John expected nothing less.

He showed the dowager a calm countenance and agreed with her judgment. “Sometimes a younger son can outstrip his older brother.”

“As the Duke of Wellington so amply demonstrates.” The dowager heaved a sigh. “Such a shame about his brother! A sad wastrel.”

He actually had a snippet of information. “The duke is buying Apsley House from his brother the marquis. He should be in full possession of the house before too long.”

The dowager raised a brow. “Good news. The house is in an excellent position.” Now she had some useful news to exchange with her acquaintances. Gossip was currency in the circles the dowager moved in.

“He plans to build.” The duke had been full of his plans to expand and develop the property, and after his warm welcome John had endured much discussion on the plans for another wing. If nothing else it proved the duke was full of juice. More stock for the dowager, and a promise to attend the ball. That should please the besom.

* * * * *

bare beneath and he sat on her daybed watching her with a smouldering heat that turned her limbs to jelly. She glanced behind her, but her maid had already left.

Without further hesitation she went to him. He got to his feet to greet her. He took her outstretched hands and used them to bring her close against his body, where his arousal became immediately apparent, pressing against her. Neither were wearing many clothes. All to the good, since it was obvious what he intended. Her body prepared itself for him as if he’d trained her, arousal dampening the space between her thighs and her breath quickening. No sense pretending she didn’t want him, so when she tilted her head up to him she expected his kiss.

He didn’t disappoint her. Lowering his head to the perfect angle, he pressed his lips against hers. He touched his tongue to the velvet softness, a request for entry she had come to anticipate and dream of at odd times of the day when she should be thinking of something else. He banded his arms around her, but held her loosely, his hands spread, one to encompass her back, the other her bottom. He cradled it, pressed her against him so she felt the rigidity of his erection.

He kissed her lavishly, generously and she returned his embrace, the powerful muscles under her hands shifting as he changed position to bring her closer. He invaded her mouth with his tongue, avidly exploring as if he’d never tasted her before, moving his lips over hers, his tongue, and she was not idle. John, this man of hers, liked her to participate, not merely take what he gave her. His encouragement had given her the courage to venture forth in her own adventures. She tasted him back, relearning the unique flavour of John. She loved the way he groaned into her mouth, sending delicious vibrations coursing through her. He brought every part of her body to a state of readiness.

For him. Nobody but John did this to her, or ever had.

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His breath gusted hotly over her cheek and then he drew away.

“I want to make love to you, Faith. Need to.”

His expression said more than his words and what she saw in his eyes made her falter, draw back to examine his face with more concentration. Warmth, heat, and the sexual awareness she knew by now, but something else, a raw awareness, something new.

She didn’t ask. She only smiled because she recognised that expression. She’d felt it herself for some time. Impossible to ignore any more, it was time for them to take the next step. Whatever that was, wherever it took them.

She said nothing, only nodded. He took her hand, a gesture that felt strangely intimate after they had experienced each other’s bodies so closely, and drew her to the bed. The covers were turned down, revealing the pristine sheets, not a crease visible. They were about to change that.

Smiling, he loosened the fastenings on her silk robe, his fingers snagging on the fine material. She didn’t help him, but performed the same office for him. Unlike her, he was naked beneath. As he shrugged his robe off his shoulders to fall to the floor, she took a moment to admire his fine figure. She saw well-shaped muscles, small scars that signified a life well lived. She had a few herself, a couple of burn marks from cooking in primitive conditions and a white line on her thumb where a knife bit deep before she pulled it away.

He unfastened the buttons at her neck and wrists, not allowing her to do anything for herself. She enjoyed the sensation of helplessness, as if she was too fragile to do anything. He knew how capable she was in reality. He chose to treat her as if she were fashioned from spun glass. A smile curled her lips when she realised that wouldn’t last long. She raised her arms as he drew the garment off over her head. She’d worn coarse linen, fine cotton, silk.

Sometimes hadn’t undressed to sleep. As he stared at her as if looking at her for the first time, she knew he’d gaze at her in the
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same way, whatever item of clothing she’d just removed. It didn’t matter to him.

He helped her into the high bed, not so high she needed steps to climb in, although a small stool stood ready by an adjacent wall.

The action opened her to him, made her reveal the most intimate secrets of her body. Instead of modestly concealing herself, she pushed the covers back more, and lay back, her legs parted to expose herself to him. Like a Roman empress inviting another lover into her chamber. Except this was the one lover she had, that she would ever want.

He took his time, watching her, but his arousal jutted forth, the head shiny and damp, an aggressor to her sex, dripping with need for him, soaking the sheet beneath her. “You’re so perfect,” he said, his voice husky. “I want you so much but I don’t want to stop looking at you.” Leaning forward, supporting himself with one hand against the mattress, he touched her with the other, slid one finger into her wetness, across her clitoris and deep into her.

Making a sound low in her throat, she pressed her head back into the pillows banked behind her and groaned. “John.” His name, so precious to her now. “Come to me.”

The cry of the siren over the ages, and it worked as well as ever.

He climbed up and came over her, his legs straddling hers, his cock almost reaching on its own towards its welcome.

Bracing himself on one arm next to her, he took his shaft in hand and guided it to her. He used it to caress her clitoris and slit, then pushed the head inside her, meeting barely any resistance. One kiss and the heat of his gaze had done that, made her so open to him that he could take her any way he chose, despite the size of his cock.

He filled her completely, making her realise all over again how perfect he was for her, fitting her snugly to the point of overflow.

“It feels good here,” he murmured. “Like I belong.”

She curled her arm around his neck, brought him closer. “You do.”

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He drove deep, waited there, their body hair meshing, their juices combining to create something new. Then he pulled out, so he could fill her all over again. She sighed, stretched, arching her body voluptuously to meet his, opening herself as much as possible.

Bending her knees, she set her legs either side of him. That gave him the freedom to move, not restraining him by lashing her legs around his waist, or telling him what to do. She wanted, needed him to satisfy himself, sate himself on her and if she came, well and good. If she didn’t, good too, because the sensation of having him inside her beat anything she could do for herself. His body lay over hers, big and powerful, the tender expression on his face giving way to raw passion as his movements increased in tempo and intensity. He withdrew almost completely with every stroke, then thrust right in, their bodies colliding, her breasts trembling against the powerful muscles of his chest, gleaming with sweat.

He bent to kiss her, long, wet and lascivious. Without warning he changed his rhythm to hard fast, shallow jabs, rousing her until every nerve in her body responded to him and she cried out into his mouth. He broke their kiss so she could shout the sudden climax that arrived swift as a bolt of lightning. His name shattered the stillness outside the confines of their bed.

She gasped, suddenly short of breath, and he watched, his dark eyes fierce, civilisation stripped away to reveal the warrior beneath.

He changed his tempo again, driving deep once more, watching her as he achieved his own culmination.

Fresh heat and wetness gushed into her in violent, draining spasms and he jerked with every one. He kept his eyes open, kept her gaze as each spurt of his seed jetted into her until she dragged him back for another kiss. Their mouths opened, tongues met, stroked, caressed and the violence of his thrusts brought her high again, a responsive orgasm jolting her body, so they shared the aftermath.

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John looked so good like this. He rolled to one side, his body gleaming with well-earned sweat, and reached for her, demanding rather than requesting. She went to him, knowing she belonged.

He pulled her tight against him, their bodies connecting from head to toe. She tucked a leg between his, her wet sex pressing against his thigh, the scent of their lovemaking rising to remind them of what they had just done.

He kissed her cheek, her ear, then drew a deep breath. “I love you, Faith. For years I watched you, I wanted you. I dreamed about you in the wilderness, but I never imagined anything this perfect.”

She doubted what she was hearing, but he’d articulated it well enough. He deserved the truth.

She closed her eyes, still afraid of what she might see. She’d never been this close to another human being, never felt so intimately connected with anyone. The truth bubbled up inside her, refusing to be denied a moment longer. If she said it and she was wrong, she couldn’t take it back.

He’d had the courage to say what they both felt in their hearts.

So should she. She opened her eyes, stared directly into his, warm and waiting for her. “I love you too.”

With a smile that bade fair to break her heart, he cupped her cheek in one warm palm and kissed her. Soft, gentle, undemanding, but so full of joy all she could do was respond as fully as she could manage. No lascivious kiss of desire, this, but one of fulfilled and complete happiness. He finished the kiss only to touch his lips to hers again, as if he couldn’t prevent himself doing it. She snuggled closer, let him bring her completely into the shelter of his big body and set herself to enjoy this unique moment. He kissed away her tears, murmured to her, “No crying, Faith. Sweetheart, my love, don’t cry.”

Several moments, as it turned out. One kiss turned into another and his shaft, previously softly contented, showed signs of returning to life. With a chuckle, he disengaged and leaned back, bringing her
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with him so she lay over him, her legs straddling his body. “Faith, you’re a complete surprise. I never expected to come home to a wife, much less discover that wife was you. I didn’t expect to want you so much. And I didn’t expect to fall in love with you.”

“I didn’t expect you to be alive,” she said, smiling. “But I’m so glad you are!”

“Did you think you would be?”

She picked her words carefully. “I felt shock when I first saw you, as how could I not? Then fear, because I had no idea what you would do. You could have condemned me, commanded me to leave the house in Red Lion Square, because I bought it with your money.”