Dreamspinner (14 page)

Instinctively her hands lifted to shield her breasts. He drew her fingers away. “Don’t cover yourself,” he said. “You’re too beautiful.”

His mouth moved downward, caressing the soft swells above the lace edged corset. The feel of his tongue against her flesh stoked the fire inside her; she tilted her head back and twined her fingers in his hair. His palm embraced her breast, and his heat burned through the stiff undergarment.

Seeing his dark head bowed over her bosom stirred a flurry of feelings inside her, feelings she could no longer repress, feelings that transcended the fear that he felt no more than physical desire for her. “I love you, Kent. I love you so.”

The quiet words flowed past his passion and into his heart. Kent found himself forsaking the scented warmth of her breasts and lifting his gaze to hers. The adoration in her green eyes hurled him into a vortex of turbulent emotion.

He couldn’t speak; he couldn’t move. She regarded him with such trust, such tenderness, that his throat choked with guilt. Could he ever say those words back to her? The temptation to give her what she wanted almost overpowered him.

He swallowed hard. He couldn’t lie to her. At least not about love.

What if she saw through his deception? Suddenly he could bear her rapt gaze no longer. He stood, his arms steadying her as her feet met the floor. She looked winsome yet sultry, her clothing in disarray, her cinnamon hair tumbling around her bare shoulders.

Bewilderment shadowed her face. “Kent?”

“Shh.” His finger came down over her lips, the supple flesh still moist from his kisses. “Just a moment.”

Releasing her, he stepped to the mantel and blew out the candles; darkness swirled through the room. In the faint moonlight, Juliet stood as silent as a silver shadow.

Yet she lured him like the brightest beacon.

With unerring ease, his hands found her slender waist. The gown and petticoats had fallen away, and her undergarments shone pale as her ivory skin. He pulled her to him, matching his hardness to her softness. His woman. His wife.

Clenching his teeth, he willed away a tide of tenderness. He tried and failed to summon satisfaction that he’d bested Emmett Carleton at last. No longer did Kent know which motive pulsed stronger inside him: revenge or passion.

She’s only a woman,
he told himself. In the darkness he could pretend she was not the daughter of his enemy but an anonymous female. Shadows would hide her wide eyed innocence and his own self loathing. He could forget the past and the future; he could sink into her warmth and lose himself, shed the suffocating blanket of shame and regret.

“Turn around,” he muttered, even as his hands rotated her.

With unsteady fingers he plucked at her corset laces, but the complicated pattern baffled him. Christ, he should have had the foresight to unlace her in the light. A flash of memory blinded him. He’d never undressed Emily like this... she had always waited timidly in bed with the covers drawn to her chin...

Juliet’s breathy laugh floated over her shoulder. “It might be simpler if I undid the front hooks,” she said.

Through the shadows he saw the dark blur of her head; through the silence he heard the brush of her fingers on the fastenings. Feeling foolish and remorseful, he said stiffly, “You should have a lady’s maid. It wasn’t fair of me to ask you to leave with so little.”

“So little? Kent, I have more than I’d ever dreamed of.”

Though darkness veiled her expression, the fervor of her words made his chest ache with self disgust. “Juliet, I wish—”

He stopped, unsure of himself. What
did
he wish? To shower her with the riches she’d relinquished for him? To be at liberty to promise her a lifetime of happiness? To rinse away his guilt and begin their marriage with truths instead of lies?

Like a kitten seeking affection, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I don’t need wealth,” she whispered. “We agreed that money didn’t matter so long as we have each other.”

The feel of her submissive body fueled the flame of his passion. Physical love, at least, he could offer her. “I want you,” he muttered. “God help me, I want you so much.”

Stepping behind her, he drew off the corset, leaving her clad in chemise and under drawers. He put his hands beneath the froth of lace, splaying his fingers over the warmth of her abdomen and giving her a moment to accustom herself to the intimacy of his touch. Recalling her earlier alarm, he prayed that desire accounted for the swift rise and fall of her chest.

“Afraid?” he murmured.

“No... I want everything you can give me.”

He was swamped by a need so fierce, he shook from it. In that moment he no longer knew or cared who he desired more, his wife or Emmett Carleton’s daughter. Slowly he slid his palms upward until he cradled her bare breasts. He passed his thumbs over her nipples; both were pebble taut. Her sharp intake of breath pierced the darkness. Angling her head, she cuddled her cheek on his chest and arched her spine, the action thrusting her breasts more fully into his hands.

Her ardent response shot fire through him. He wanted to toss her down, rip open his trousers, and plunge inside her. The fantasy enveloped him so thoroughly that he pulled her to the bed before reality penetrated. She was a virgin; he mustn’t frighten her by unleashing the raw power of his lust.

Forcing a deep breath to clear his mind, he gently drew the chemise over her head. Moonlight filtered over the curves of her body, the full breasts, the narrow waist, the womanly hips. Under his scrutiny, Juliet held herself proudly, the earlier shyness gone. Before he could even reach for her, she pressed herself to him, tilting into the back to chest position he’d abandoned.

“Hold me, Kent... hold me as you did a moment ago.”

He could no more resist her request than he could stop the blood from blistering his loins. His hands massaged her breasts again, but only for a moment. Lured by secrets beyond her realm of knowledge, he glided his palms downward, over her drawers, to trace the open seam between her legs. She flinched and gasped, her hands catching at his arms.

“Kent, what are you—?”

“Shush, darling... trust me... trust me.”

Her muscles relaxed. Half turning her in his arms, he tipped up her chin and subjected her to a deep and drowning kiss. His fingers found her center, already hot and slick, and her sigh gusted against his mouth, her hips moving against his hand. Her passion startled and delighted him. He’d meant only to caress her a little, to help prepare her for his entry, yet her unrestrained response made him greedy for more.

“Kent, I’ve never felt so strange... so full of need... ”

“Give in to your feelings,” he whispered. “Give yourself to me, darling.”

Suppressing his own urgency, he stroked her in a slow, seductive rhythm. She twisted her face to his chest and moaned his name, her fingers clutching restively at his shirt. He sensed her need swelling in tempo with the savage pounding of his own blood. Somehow he found his back against the bedpost, his arms supporting her weight, his fingers coaxing her until she cried out, her body convulsing against his.

Her fulfillment infused him with primal exultation. Holding her tight, he gritted his teeth and strove for control.
Wait,
he commanded himself.
Wait a moment for her to recover. By God, you owe her that much and more.

Her breathing gradually eased. “Kent... that was... I never imagined anything could be so glorious.”

Gazing down at the pale oval shadow of her face, he grinned, seized by the impulse to strut. “We’re not through yet.”

“No?”

He rolled his hips against hers, the movement stinging him with a pleasure that verged on pain. “I’ve yet to plant my seed, Lady Botanist.”

“How?”

“Don’t ask so many questions,” he chided gently, reaching around to untie her drawers. “Some things don’t translate well into words.”

He peeled away the wisp of cloth, then sat her on the bed and knelt to remove her shoes and stockings. The feel of her silken skin threatened his grip on himself. Keenly aware of her watching him, he shed his own clothing and then pressed her down onto the mattress. He adjusted her lush body against his so that she could not fail to feel the hard heat of his arousal.

A shiver passed through her; his belly clenched and he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “We’ll go slow, until you’re ready.”

She sighed, her hair a dark halo against the white linen pillow. “I’m ready now,” she said, and guided his hand to the soft, sweet curve of her breasts.

Emily had never been so uninhibited.
The memory fled his mind as swiftly as it had entered. “Juliet... this could hurt you the first time. I’ll try to be gentle.”

“You will be. I trust you.”

Her certainty curled around his heart. She made him feel like a youth again, unfettered by twisted secrets. Bending his head, he kissed her long and slow, his hands caressing her. He turned his mouth to her breasts and suckled her until she arched her spine and sighed his name. Instead of causing him to forget her identity, the darkness seemed to enhance his awareness.

No other woman tasted like Juliet; no other woman possessed her ripe curves. Each breath seduced him with her scent; each murmur of delight tempted his self control. He stroked her moistness, and her thighs opened in instinctive invitation. Determined to hear her moan again with the ultimate pleasure, he held back his raging impulses until he sensed her readiness.

No longer able to contain himself, he pressed into her, breaching the barrier of her maidenhead. She cried out, clutching at his shoulders, and he paused, torn between remorse over hurting her and elation at her perfect satin sheath.

Limbs trembling, loins aching, he nuzzled her hair. “Darling Juliet... I didn’t mean to be rough... You’re so small and I’m so—”

“Perfect... you feel perfect.”

Her breath came hot and uneven against his throat. She moved her hips and he teetered on the brink of exploding. Sucking in a deep breath to temper his hot blood, he commenced the measured, unbearably magical rhythm. Her legs gripped him in a honeyed vise. Only when she uttered his name in a sobbing cry, her body racked by tremors, did he succumb to the lure of his own release, and reality fell away beneath a wild pulse beat of ecstasy.

For a time he lay saturated in sweat and peace. Her body curved into his, her cheek nestled against his neck. Tenderness flowed through him, a tenderness that both stunned and scared him, a tenderness so powerful he wanted to weep. In consummating their marriage, he’d found an uncommon closeness, a rare rapport.

He’d found only extraordinary satisfaction, he corrected himself, because Juliet was such a responsive woman.

Yet he wanted to hold her like this forever, cloaked in dark anonymity, hearing her heart beat in rhythm with his, inhaling the jasmine aroma of her skin. And if their lovemaking bore fruit? The thought stunned him. Perhaps someday he would feel their baby kick within her womb—

As his child had moved inside Emily.

The vow of vengeance sucked all the joy from him.

His muscles tensed with the need to escape the quicksand of memory. He started to lift himself from the bed. At the same instant Juliet stirred. Her soft arms encircled him, her gentle hands trapping him in a bond stronger than steel.

“Now
I see what you meant,” she said in sleepy surprise. “That wasn’t in the least like pollinating a flower.”

The declaration caught him unawares. Humor invaded his panic. He couldn’t stop the chuckle that swelled deep within himself and somehow that awful pressure eased.

She swatted his chest. “Don’t you laugh at me again.”

He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “It’s all right to laugh in bed. Don’t take this too seriously.”

‘‘Mmmm,” she murmured in contentment. “I like this side of you, Kent. Not so serious and bitter. I love you.”

She pressed a kiss to his neck. His throat went taut, but she didn’t seem to notice. She yawned and stretched, and he found himself turning onto his side, fitting her back to his chest and weaving his fingers through the silken spill of her hair.

What I love most about you is that you’ve been honest with me.

He tried to shake the disquieting feeling that he’d cheated her. He’d given her a title and the freedom to follow her own inclinations. Many marriages survived on less.

What would happen when she found out the truth?

He ought to tell her himself, but he couldn’t force out the words that would lay bare his deceit. Yet once they reached Radcliffe, someone, sometime, was bound to let slip a telling fact. And when that happened...

He drew a heavy breath. Christ, she’d despise him. She’d run straight back to Emmett Carleton.

Opposing emotions raged inside Kent. His arms tightened around her. He didn’t know if he wanted her to stay because of this powerful physical passion, or because he couldn’t bear to surrender her back into his enemy’s hands.

A baby would bind her to him forever. Suddenly the notion possessed a perfect, pleasing appeal. He wanted a second chance at becoming a father. He wanted a daughter with Juliet’s brilliant smile or a son who’d tag along with him in the fields.

He shaped his fingers to the fertile curve of her hip. If she were ever to leave him, the courts would award him custody of his heir. The child would act as a magnet, luring her back to Radcliffe and her husband.

She snuggled against him, her breathing soft and even in slumber. The action was so trusting that a wave of self loathing inundated him. He had no right to plot the direction of her life without offering her love. Yet he could not let her go.

A tide of exhaustion swept away his guilt. He pressed his chin to her fragrant hair and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was soon enough for regrets.

Tomorrow...

Chapter 7

She awoke to a lonely bed. Lifting onto an elbow, the counterpane falling from her bare breasts, Juliet blinked groggily around the room. Sunshine poured through the window to bathe the simple furnishings with the golden radiance of midmorning. Only a depression in the adjoining pillow gave testimony that Kent had slept beside her.