Elizabeth Boyle (64 page)

She might not live long enough to find out, but she knew she would at least see the light of dawn—from the warmth of Webb’s embrace. She’d promise anything for that.

“I do,” she said, leaning up toward his mouth, searching for the heated passion of his kiss.

“What do you promise?” he demanded, holding back his kiss, his touch.

I hope I never have to tell you another lie
, she thought. Looking into the dark blue depths of his eyes, looking all the way to his soul, she made her vow. “No more lies,” she whispered, hoping to hell that she could stay true to her words.

When he nodded and bent his head to seal their bargain, she felt as if she had just sold her soul.

What if she couldn’t keep her word? Not that she worried about tonight, but what about tomorrow, and the next, and if and when they returned to London?

For as his mouth took possession of hers, it was as if he never meant to let her go.

But he would when he found out the truth. Found out that she’d betrayed everything he was, everything he worked for. Betrayed his king, his country, him.

“Webb, I …” She tried to tell him, she wanted to tell him, yet the words of betrayal hung in her throat as if there were a noose tied around her neck.

He misunderstood her awkward pause completely.

“I know, hoyden. I feel it as well,” he murmured into her ear. “Now it’s my turn to give an order. Be quiet, and let this happen.”

With that he kissed her again, his mouth swooping down over hers and cutting off her weak protests.

Webb tried to tell himself to stop. But his hunger for the woman in his arms would no more listen to his feeble arguments than he could tell the ebb and flow of the oceans to cease.

This is Lily
, his reason screamed.
Remember troublesome, bothersome, Lily?

More like delectable, passionate, persuasive Lily, he thought, as her hips again rose to brush against his manhood.

She seemed to know just how to tease him, just where to touch him, just when to press her body against him.

Lily was no more the errant child. Instead, she was a woman to contend with.

A woman who, with her courtesan wiles and innocent requests, shattered all his illusions, reawakened his every fantasy.

“Touch me again, Webb,” she whispered in his ear. “Please.”

He complied most willingly. It was enough to undo a man.

This time though, he let his lips taste where before only his fingers had ventured. He dipped his head down and began suckling at her nipple.

She arched like a cat, a half-sigh, half-purr issuing from deep within her.

His arm wrapped tightly around her back, while his other hand stroked first her belly, then moved lower, parting the heated flesh at the juncture of her thighs.

“Ah, that feels so good,” she gasped.

“I think it would feel better if we were lying down.” Not wanting to wait another moment to be with her, Webb scooped her up in his arms and carried her the half-score or so steps across the room. He laid her down on a red velvet chaise. She reached for him, but he stepped back, stood towering over her, just wanting, for the moment, to look at her.

God, she was beautiful. He stepped back farther, his gaze devouring the sight of her.

Her blonde hair, loose and falling down past her shoulders, the silken strands shimmering in the pale light. She shifted, raising her arms over her head, giving him a full view of her body, as if she sensed his need just to look.

Her breasts rose, as did her hips, undulating in a slow, sensual wave, as if calling out for his touch.

His arms ached to wrap her in his embrace. His legs tingled with the thought of being entwined with hers. And he ached to fill her, to feel her envelop him.

“What are you waiting for?”

Webb needed no further enticements. He yanked off his boots and with all due haste added his breeches to their pile of forgotten clothes. The cool air hit his skin, but did nothing to cool the fire she’d ignited.

Lily watched Webb stalk back to the settee like a great cat, naked and so masculine. She’d seen a man unclothed before, but seeing Webb like this, she realized how little she knew of them.

Though Thomas had been a handsome, well-formed man, she hadn’t realized a man could be so … so heart stopping. Webb’s life of discipline and constant vigilance showed in the perfection of his body.

Glorious was the word that came to mind as he walked toward her, his muscles moving in taut unison.

How she wanted to touch him, to let her hands and body explore every inch of his muscled flesh.

Lily knew to her dying day, she’d never forget the look in Webb’s eyes as he joined her on the chaise. His unfathomable need seemed to devour her senses.

He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. As if he’d been waiting as long as she had.

For a moment he lay over her, just looking into her eyes. With one hand he traced the outline of her face, gently caressing her cheeks, her mouth, her brows.

His touch, whispering now over her shoulder and down to her breasts, left her writhing with pleasure.

No longer satisfied just to be touched, she knew she had to touch him, feel all of him as well.

She ran her hands over his shoulders, marveling at the hard muscles beneath her fingers, at the hot current of need passing from his skin to hers.

His lips captured hers again, and they began another one of those breathless kisses she knew she would never have enough of—yet this time it wasn’t enough, she wanted more, to feel more, to give him more.

Instinctively, she reached down and slid her hand over his manhood. The length and hardness gave her both a moment of pause and a moment of sheer anticipation. As her fingers wrapped around him, Webb groaned, the deep, throaty sound thrilling her senses. His body flexed toward her and she continued to stroke him, the pad of her thumb rolling over the silken head and then down the length.

Webb’s hand caressed her hip and then moved over to the hot, fevered spot between her legs. Opening the soft folds with his fingertips, he traced slow, teasing circles over the bud hidden within.

She’d never felt anything like the coiling tension winding through her body, spreading from Webb’s expert touch. She never wanted him to stop touching her, but she knew there was more. She craved to be filled, to have him inside her.

This was what had been missing from her previous experiences—this anticipation, this driving need for more.

“I can’t … can’t wait anymore,” she said, in ragged gasps.

“Neither can I.”

“Please, Webb, I need you so badly.”

Without any further urging, he lowered himself, her legs opening wider.

His raging desire made him want nothing more than to drive himself into her, but she’d driven him to this place with her ceaseless, deliberate touch and now he wanted to inflict the same madness.

Slowly he entered her. First with only a teasing foray, brushing himself into her and then pulling himself out. Beneath him, she twisted and arched toward him, her greedy need trying to catch him and pull him into her.

“Oh, Webb, don’t tease me.”

He ignored the order, and continued to enter her slowly, back and forth, only going a little further with each stroke, and then pulling himself out nearly to the tip.

He listened to her quick panting, to her sighs, to her gasps, as his guides. Her hips quickly caught his rhythm and swayed insistently against him until finally he filled her.

What he hadn’t anticipated was how he felt so complete and lost at the same time, once he found himself sheathed in her welcoming warmth.

Kissing her deeply, while he continued to move inside her, he found himself guided by her thrusting hips and soft cries.

Lily knew she’d been missing something before, but now she knew how much she’d been cheated. Webb’s hardness immersed her in sweet torture. She couldn’t get enough of his languid strokes. She wanted more, she wanted it faster and she wanted to feel every inch of him as he slid in and out of her.

Each fevered moment called to her, enticed her to take more of him. She felt herself climbing, riding him, wanting him until it seemed her very core, so swollen and close to bursting with need, would explode.

And then it did—in a bright fiery burst, shattering through her in a staggering blast. Webb’s deep hard strokes matched each pulse in her body. Her eyes fluttered open and she stared into the triumph of his gaze and then the selfsame torment as he found his release.

She tried to catch her breath, clinging to him, lost in the incredible pleasure that washed away her fevered senses in a succession of soothing waves, leaving her breathless and still but for her pounding heart.

For a moment the quiet of the night surrounded them, broken only by a few stolen kisses and the soft sighs Lily couldn’t seem to stop.

“Webb, I—” she murmured sleepily.

“Shhh, hoyden. Go to sleep.”

“But I need to tell you—”

He kissed her to silence the words. When he pulled away from her, he told her, “We’ll talk tomorrow. You can tell me everything then. Sleep, Lily.” Webb cradled her in his arms, nuzzling her hair and kissing her lightly on the forehead.

He didn’t want to talk, for he was too afraid of the feelings welling up inside him. His arms wrapped tighter around her.

She’d stolen his heart, and it would take a lifetime of chasing her, he decided, to reclaim any measure of it.

They’d find those damn journals, nothing would stop him now.

In his arms Lily mumbled something again, but he couldn’t discern the words. Her lashes fluttered, as if she wanted to stay awake, but the more she tried, the faster she drifted into sleep.

Webb watched the woman in his arms. How like Lily to fight sleep, even when it was what she needed most. He brushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen over her brow. Cradling her tightly in his arms, he wondered at the overwhelming sense of security surrounding them, when he should be fearing for their lives.

What had he been thinking, making love to Lily? It was an impossible notion, and yet holding her here in his arms, he couldn’t imagine any other choice.

Outside, the first rays of dawn were tinting the skyline with faint hints of red and purple. Sighing, he realized their night was coming to an end.

Their night. The first of a lifetime.

Shocked by his own conclusion, the very idea stopped him.
A lifetime with Lily?
First he had to secure their lives, then he could consider such an impractical, foolish, wonderful notion.

He carefully rose from the settee, so as not to disturb her, and gathered his clothing, pulling on his shirt and then his breeches.

He glanced back at her sleeping form. Her hair fell in disarray past her shoulders, covering her breasts. She’d curled up in a ball, her long legs tucked up. He wanted her, wanted her so badly that for one crazy moment he thought of stealing her away from Paris, of leaving his duties and obligations so they could be together.

Forever.

He shook his head at the fantastic notion. This wild, heedless abandonment was not what he wanted. He wanted a gently reared English miss. One who’d run his household with only the most impeccable decorum and sensibility. One whose respectability would be inherent in everything she did.

Decorum, sensibility, and respectability were hardly words he’d use to describe Lily, he reasoned, as he struggled to pull on his boots.

No, more like conniving, unpredictable, and uncontrollable.

And passionate, and wild, and extraordinary.

Well, he mused, as he picked up his sleeping vision and cradled her in his arms, a man can hardly live on passion.

Why not?
The question begged to be answered.

And for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a argument against it.

She stirred a bit, her head still resting on his shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“You are going to bed,” he told her as he made his way down the hall to Adelaide’s bedroom.

“And you too?” A sly, catlike grin stole over her features. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nibbled at his ear.

He pulled his head back from her witchery. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have a bed elsewhere. I don’t think Madame Costard would enjoy finding me in your bed. I’d like to keep my limbs attached to my body.”

“So would I. I like your limbs exactly as they are.” Lily laughed softly before her eyes fluttered shut.

Webb pushed open the door to Adelaide’s room with his foot and stalked over to the pink and white ruffled bed. He deposited his sleepy baggage into the satin recesses and pulled the counterpane over her.

She made a few soft noises of contentment and then rolled over, sound asleep.

After standing beside her for a moment, he leaned down and placed a kiss on her brow. “Sleep well, hoyden.”

As he rose and turned to leave the room, he spied Celeste standing in the doorway of the adjoining chamber. She wore a red wrapper, her dark hair tied up in a colorful kerchief. From the disapproving set of her frown, Webb gathered she’d seen enough to guess what had happened.

Used to the unconcerned manners of English servants, the West Indies slave caught him by surprise with her direct question.

“Where are that child’s clothes?”

Webb felt like a fifteen-year-old caught in the hayloft with a scullery maid. “In Henri’s room.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you going to fetch them or do you expect me to?”

“I can,” he answered, only too happy to leave the room now.

She made a rude noise in the back of her throat. “Don’t bother, you’ll probably miss something.” Brushing past him, she headed toward the hall. “Though from the looks of it, you did a pretty good job of it, I think.”

At that point the first ray of light slipped into the room, blinding Webb. In that brilliant moment, he could have sworn the usually taciturn Celeste was grinning.

“W
ake up, mistress,” Celeste said, nudging Lily with a hearty push.

Lily ignored her maid and rolled over. The room was too cold to get up, and when she peeked out from beneath the blanket, the frost on the windows was enough to make her pull the coverlet back over her head.