Days of Rakes and Roses (10 page)

“Shh.” His finger followed the slope of her breast to where her pulse beat so swiftly in the notch above her collarbone.

“Simon!” she said impatiently. “Listen to me, for heaven’s sake.”

With satisfaction, he recognized that he’d have to shut her up in the traditional way. Not that he needed encouragement to kiss her. He dug his hands deep in her tumbling hair and tilted her face up.

“Simon, you must—”

He lowered his mouth to hers, pressing her up against the door. Velvety darkness immediately surrounded him, darkness sweet with the warm scent of Lydia’s skin and the cool freshness of rain. He half-expected her to resist the kiss and continue pleading for him to flee his fate, but her lips opened immediately. Voluptuous heat enveloped him as she unhesitatingly kissed him back.

He’d been tired when he returned home. Tired and heartsick and uncaring that tomorrow his rival for this exceptional woman might bring his existence to a gory end. Now he felt ready to fight a pride of lions with his bare hands.

He lost track of time. The need to take the kiss further, to possess her, beat around him like a thousand wings. But eventually a thin sliver of reality pierced his euphoria.

He knew what he wanted to do. But in all honor, he couldn’t proceed.

Damn, damn, damn, he couldn’t.

On a muttered curse, he wrenched himself away from Lydia and untangled his arms from her body. His knees felt so unsteady, he supported himself by flattening his palms against the door on either side of her. Panting, he bent his head and struggled for control, for the resolution to let her go.

“Simon?” The panic in her voice made his heart fist in futile protest. “What’s wrong?”

He needed a few moments to catch his breath. His voice emerged raw and harsh. “This.” He forced himself to take another breath. “This is wrong.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you wanted me.”

His low laugh was bitter. “Good God, woman, I want you beyond bearing. But you deserve better. What if I put a child in your belly? We have to stop.”

She grabbed his shoulders, her fingers bunching his shirt as if she feared that he’d run away. “No, we don’t. I’ve waited all my life for you. I’m not waiting any longer.”

He raised his head and stared down at her in torment. Her eyes were dark with passion. How he longed to fling good sense to the winds, but he couldn’t. Not when his impetuosity had already done so much damage. “Tomorrow—”

“I don’t care about tomorrow. I care about now. And how I’ve missed you since you went away. And how… how I need you. We’ve let too much come between us. It’s time to take what we want.”

“But what if—”

She shook her luxuriant hair back from a face stark with determination. “Do you love me, Simon?”

On a groan, he slid one hand across the door to cup the back of her skull. “You know I do.”

She angled her chin and stared back with a bravery that stabbed him to the quick. “Then make love to me. Now.”

“Lydia—”

She lurched up and fitted her mouth to his, becoming pursuer instead of pursued. He fought to hold back, knowing that if he let his desire win, he wouldn’t be able to hold back, whatever the demands of principle. But she kissed him so urgently, as if she’d die if she stopped, that he couldn’t withstand her.

On another groan, he gave in. Helplessly he recognized that he was caught. He and Lydia were always meant to come together in a blinding flare of heat and passion. What happened tonight was merely the inevitable answer to the question he’d asked at Fentonwyck so long ago.

He couldn’t fight his destiny. He couldn’t fight
her
.

Still kissing her, he swept her up into his arms. Her hands twined around his neck as he strode through to his bedroom. Very gently he laid her upon the bed and kneeled over her, his tongue dancing with hers, his hands busy stripping away gown and corset in between kisses. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. He needed to make up for the time they’d been apart, the time when he couldn’t show her how he adored her.

He moved away to shuck his shirt over his head. His breeches were tight and uncomfortable over his swelling cock. He straddled her once more.

“I can hardly believe this is happening,” she said huskily, letting her hand drift down his bare chest to his abdomen. Her touch trailed fire, tightened the skin over his bones.

“Believe, my darling.” Ruthlessly he ripped away her shift. Every inch he revealed was more gorgeous. Her breasts were small and round and perfect, crowned with pink nipples pearled with excitement.

Quickly he untied her slippers and slid her stockings down her long, long legs. He watched her lovely face, noting the flush on her cheeks and the way her lips plumped red with kissing. This was what Lydia should look like, not the prim, contained woman he’d observed on Berwick’s arm at her betrothal ball.

He leaned forward to kiss her breasts. She shifted restlessly and sighed with pleasure. Burying her fingers in his hair, she brought him closer. He needed no further incitement. He worshipped her with his hands and his lips, loving that he gave her pleasure.

Her scent, richer, more womanly than the scent of the girl he’d kissed as a youth, intoxicated him. She lay naked before him, all graceful limbs and creamy skin, tinted gold in the candlelight. She was a symphony in ivory and pink. The dark red curls at the junction of her thighs created an enchanting contrast.

As very carefully he placed one hand on the feathery hair covering her mound, every ounce of his desire infused his kiss. She whimpered against his mouth and quivered with shyness. He expected a protest, but she parted her legs to his invasion. He pressed into her softness and slowly traced the sleek lips of her sex. When he found hot moisture, he groaned and buried his head in her bare shoulder.

He heard her ragged gasps as he touched her, preparing her. He discovered the site of her pleasure and circled it with his thumb. She squeaked with surprise. Then, making his heart expand painfully, she lifted her hips in appeal for more.

He craved to take her now. Before the world could rip her away from him as it had before. But the need to give her joy surpassed the roaring of his senses. He eased a finger into her, testing the tightness.

“Simon—”

“Trust me,” he choked out.

She shuddered under his touch, then again, when he stroked deeply. A second finger slid in more easily and this time her moan conveyed pleasure rather than discomfort. He teased her until she started to clench rhythmically around his fingers. She was close but, selfish beast he was, he wanted to be inside her when she experienced her first climax. He burned to share that profound moment with her.

He lifted himself on his arms and stared down at her face. He read powerful need in her toffee-treacle eyes. But it wasn’t enough.

The first time he tried to speak, words failed. He sucked in a jagged breath and spoke roughly. “Is it yes, Lydia?”

With glassy eyes, she stared up at him. Had she understood? Dear God, he didn’t think he could summon willpower to ask again. She spread below him like a banquet and he was a starving man. He prayed for control, telling himself he could hold back if he must.

He watched her swallow, her slender throat moving as though mustering words was difficult for her, too. Then astoundingly, miraculously, her lush mouth curved into a luminous smile. She looked like the disheveled, bewitching girl who had come so close to yielding to him at Fentonwyck.

“Yes, forever yes.”

His lungs emptied in a massive exhalation and his heart slammed against his ribs. He rolled to the side and clumsily tore his breeches away. Finesse was beyond him. Her consent vibrated through him like a thousand cellos playing a triumphant major chord. Or like trumpets blaring to herald the conqueror’s entry into a fallen city.

Balancing on his elbows, he rose, sliding between her legs. This time nothing separated them. Their bodies slid together with an ease that astounded him, as did the naturalness with which she bent her knees to frame his hips.

He bent to kiss her, a kiss immeasurably different from all the others, a kiss to mark the moment that he presented his soul to her on a platter. When he tilted his hips and pushed into her, it was confirmation of lasting vows made in the silence. A silence broken only by their tattered breathing and the thunder of blood in his ears.

The urge to drive into her threatened to overwhelm him. But when she whimpered, he paused, striving for control.

Gritting his teeth, he slid a fraction deeper. She shifted to accommodate him. Her face was wan and tight and she bit down hard on her lip.

“Am I hurting you?” he gasped, wondering what he’d do if she told him to stop.

He’d stop. He could do that for her. It would kill him, but he could.

Her gaze met his, dark, intent, urgent. “Don’t stop.”

He hardly recognized the hoarse voice as hers. He inched farther still, meeting resistance, until he encountered the barrier of her innocence. He lifted her toward him. Still she stared at him out of glistening caramel eyes as if he encompassed her whole world.

“Forgive me, my darling,” he groaned and pushed forward.

Lydia gasped and her body clenched down on his. Then she curled her arms around him and arched until her breasts crushed into his chest.

She closed her eyes and her face relaxed into shining peace. “Simon…”

Joy flooded him, flung him high into a brilliant new world. Her body flowered to accept him and he sank completely into her, claiming her at last. He leaned his head into the smooth curve of her neck, feeling the warm dampness of her skin. How he longed to cling to this moment so that it never left him.

All his life, he’d wanted to be Lydia’s lover. Now that he was, the magnitude of the experience beggared imagination. She was his whole life. Uniting their bodies united their souls in a way he didn’t understand but immediately acknowledged. The bond they forged tonight would outlast eternity. Her hands flattened on his back as she claimed him in return.

The yen to linger and bask in this radiance was strong, even as the need to move surged. As he slowly withdrew, her nails dug into his back. He’d bear her mark tomorrow. The savage thought shot another burst of arousal through him.

He moved back into her, this time more easily. Her body welcomed him and when he met her eyes, they shimmered with love. Brief sorrow struck him for the years they’d lost. Then he stared down at the woman in his arms and knew that she had been worth waiting for. What they had now was deeper and more powerful after enduring through adversity.

She sighed, the sound a long exhalation of pleasure, and rose to meet him. The night fractured into dazzling passion. Simon took her faster and harder, feeling her response spiral with his own.

He thrust one last time and heard her breathing change. Her body convulsed around his and she lost herself to her peak. As her broken cry echoed around the room, hot darkness swamped him and he gave himself up to her.

At last his wanderings were over. He’d found his way home into Lydia’s arms.

Chapter Seven

Lydia stirred from the deep, dreamless sleep she’d tumbled into after all the exquisite, unprecedented things Simon had done to her in his bed. The candles on the sideboard guttered low. Outside along Piccadilly, she heard the rumble of early traffic as wagons laden with produce rolled into London from the countryside.

She lay alone and naked. Any virtuous woman would blush red as a tomato, whereas Lydia just felt… loved. She couldn’t muster any remorse over giving herself to a man without benefit of wedlock. Simon loved her. It turned out that he’d always loved her. After accepting such a miracle as truth, she felt revitalized, brave, and ready to take on the world. Only now did she realize how fear had tainted every breath she’d ever taken, with perhaps the single exception of those untrammeled moments in Simon’s arms at Fentonwyck.

And last night.

While conventional morality might dictate otherwise, committing herself to Grenville Berwick had been a craven, dishonest act, whereas loving Simon set her free to pursue her destiny. She loved Simon with all her soul and she could never be ashamed of that, whatever cruel names the world might call her.

Perhaps she was more her mother’s daughter than she’d ever realized.

After last night’s revelations, Lydia finally found it in herself to forgive her mother for seizing what small joy she could, whatever the consequences. Love, it seemed, had its own imperatives.

Love had proven itself more satisfying than she’d ever imagined. And in ten lonely years, she’d spent a lot of time imagining. As her sleepy mind winnowed the glorious events of the preceding hours, she stretched across the rumpled sheets in an excess of lingering physical pleasure. Each beat of her heart spoke her lover’s name. Simon. Simon. Simon.

Simon…

Where was he? Clumsily she rose, wincing as muscles she’d never known she possessed protested. When Simon had joined his body with hers, she’d suffered brief discomfort, but she’d trusted him enough to follow his lead. A wave of heat washed through her when she recalled where his lead had taken her.

“Simon?” She tugged a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around herself.

Her voice echoed around the silent rooms. A horrible presentiment struck a chill down her spine. Hurriedly she leaned down to test the side of the bed where Simon had slept. It was stone cold.