Folly (9 page)

And then it didn’t matter. Because they came together. His
cock. Her womb. One.

He erupted in an endless delight and she, bless her heart,
milked him of every drop.

Which was a disaster, really. Because he’d resolved earlier,
as he’d sat by her side in the drawing room drinking tea and talking about
Helena’s party plans, that he wouldn’t come inside her again.

He couldn’t take the chance of getting her with child.

Because he couldn’t bear the thought that, if he did, if he
gave her the child she so desperately needed, she would walk away from him
forever.

Eleanor awoke feeling refreshed and invigorated, which made
little sense, considering the torment of the evening past and the wild abandon
of the night that followed. Ethan murmured in his sleep and tightened his hold
on her and she instinctively nestled closer. There was something about him she
found irresistible—his features, his scent, his soul perhaps. She wanted to be
near him, wrapped in his warm embrace. Always.

Even in his sleep, he complied. As she tucked her naked body
against his, his arms tightened around her, and with a grunt, he buried his
nose in her hair. She let him hold her like that for a long, long while,
letting the peace of this closeness sink into her.

He was so different from her husband—and not just because
she found Ethan inexpressibly attractive. Not just because she
wanted
Ethan’s hands on her. No. It was the way he treated her. His touch was gentle
and tantalizing. In lovemaking, he always saw to her pleasure, and when he was
harsh, domineering, it was always with a hint of restraint, a watchful
consideration. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, if she demanded he
stop—whatever he was doing—he would.

Ulster would never have stopped. Not until his depraved
desire had been assuaged. He had used her as a vessel, a thing. He’d taken
pleasure in dominating her only to bolster his crippled ego. He’d punished her
for creating a hunger in him that he’d considered an abomination, a weakness.

She shuddered at the memory. Closed her eyes tight against
it.

Thank God he was gone.

Even though she was still mired in the mourning
period—barely a month away from his passing—she could find no guilt in her
relief.

She was glad he was gone. Glad she was free.

And ah, so very glad she had agreed to Ethan’s
bargain—whether there was a child or not. He’d given her something more
precious than financial security. He’d reminded her who she was, who she’d been
before Ulster had remade her. Ethan
liked
being with her. Bathed her in
respect. Included her in conversations. Engaged her. He’d never once berated
her. Never once raised his hand.

Then again, this was an affair.

They weren’t married.

She tipped up her head and stared at Ethan’s face. It was so
beautiful, so familiar to her now. She traced a finger along the scar Ulster
had made and her heart twisted at the pain it must have caused. But she loved
it. Because it was Ethan’s.

A warm, wet tide washed through her. Her heart began to
thud. Panic flickered in her soul.

Because, God help her, she’d done it.

The thing she’d sworn never to do.

She’d fallen in love with a man.

It frightened her to death.

Ethan was annoyed when he awoke.

For one thing, it was late. The sun was already high in the
sky.

For another, he was alone.

He patted the sheets on the empty side of the bed and found
them cold. Damn. She must have left during the night.

He’d never gotten the chance to talk to her. To tell her…

Damn.

He threw back his covers and bellowed for Carson, who came
skittering into the room, his nuncheon napkin still tucked in his collar.

“You let me sleep,” he snarled.

“Yes, sir.” Carson was used to Ethan’s foibles—they’d been
together for years. But still, he trembled. “You ordered me, in no uncertain
terms, not to disturb you.”

“It’s past noon. Were you ever going to wake me?”

Carson stepped back. “You were quite specific.”

“Bloody hell.” He had made such a command. In no uncertain
terms. But it only applied when he was engaged in a delightful pursuit with a
delectable woman. Who now was gone. And it was past noon. Who knew where she
could be by now. And damn it all, he was hard again. He wanted her. Needed her.
“Come on, Carson. Quit lollygagging around and get me dressed.” He had to find
her. And soon.

He needed her.

She wasn’t anywhere in the house, and none of the servants
seemed to know where she’d gone. Ethan was close to throwing an uncustomary
temper tantrum when he finally came upon Lady Darlington having tea on the
patio.

“Ethan.” She smiled up at him and patted the chair by her side.
“Sit. Have some tea. Isn’t it a lovely day?”

He perched on the edge of the chair and wound his fingers
together and glanced around and noticed that indeed, the sun was shining and
there was a cool breeze and the birds were twittering in the trees and yes, it
was a lovely day, but where the hell was Eleanor? He accepted a cup of tea from
his hostess and took a polite sip, though he truly deplored tea. “Have you seen
Lady Ulster?”

“Eleanor?” Helena’s eyes went wide. Then she blinked,
slowly. A light of comprehension glimmered in her moss-green depths. “Why ever
would you be looking for Eleanor?” She tittered a laugh but Ethan wasn’t
fooled. “I thought the two of you disliked each other.”

“Helena.” He caught and held her gaze. “I think you know
better.”

Again, Helena blinked. When she was paying attention, she
caught on fast. The past few days, she’d been distracted by the events of her
own life. Now she saw things clearly and her mouth tightened. She sighed and
set down her teacup. Ethan had the distinct impression of a matron preparing
for war. “She’s my best friend, Pennington.” She only called him Pennington
when she was being formal, or she was annoyed.

“I know.”

“I won’t have her hurt by you.”

“I have no intention of hurting her. And I’ve already had this
conversation with James, thank you very much.”

Helena ignored this tidbit. “A week ago she was your enemy’s
wife.”

“Ulster’s dead.”

“But vengeance lingers.”

They stared at each other in the light of the lovely day.
The breeze riffled their hair. Birds sang in the trees. Ethan struggled for
words.

“I have no anger toward her.” No. Anger, this feeling was
not.

“Are you not tempted to punish her in Ulster’s place?” She
watched him closely, gauging him.

He swallowed. “I was.” Oh yes. He had planned such a thing.
Now the thought made his stomach churn. The thought of anyone hurting Eleanor
made his stomach churn. “But not anymore.”

“I see.” Her expression gave nothing away. It was a mask.
But her eyes warmed, a tiny bit. “What happened? What changed your mind?”

His mind? His mind had not been involved in the slightest.
He shrugged. “I came to know her. As Eleanor.” He swallowed, hoped to hell he
wasn’t making a mistake by confessing all. But Helena was a much better ally
than foe. “I agreed to help her make the child.”

Her body stilled. She said nothing, which made him
uncomfortable, pinned like a bug, as he was, under her glacial review.

“I know you had Haversham in mind.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Haversham? Oh, Haversham.
Yes. But as a husband.” She tapped her lip with a slender finger. “However, if
Eleanor has accepted you as a lover—and she has accepted you?” She waited for
his curt nod. Hell yes. She’d accepted him. Many times. “Then who am I to
object? But let me tell you this, Pennington, if you hurt her, if you break her
heart, if you damage her in any way, I’ll have your guts for garters.” This,
she said in the pleasantest tone, but he believed her.

What idiot wouldn’t?

“So. Have you seen her this morning?”

Helena poured herself another cup of tea and added a hefty
spoonful of sugar. “I believe she is exploring the wilderness walk.”

He was out of sight before she finished stirring.

He found her by the pond tucked against a rocky escarpment
and shielded from the path by a thick curtain of trees. He would have missed
her altogether—so quickly was he taking the path—except he knew the Darlington
wilderness walk well. And she was singing.

Like a siren’s call, she drew him in.

He made his way through the brush to the clearing as
silently as he could. Not because he wanted to surprise her but because he
didn’t want her to stop singing. Her voice was lovely, serene, magical. It
wrapped around him like a skein of her hair and drew him closer.

When he saw her, he stilled.

Well, except of his heart, which set up a clatter so fierce
he was surprised she didn’t hear it.

What a sight.

She sat on a large flat stone at the pond’s edge and trailed
her fingers in the rippling water. Sunlight shafted through the trees and
caressed her hair, her skin, her body with its warmth. As he watched, she
tipped back her head and let it lick the features of her countenance.

God.

Unable to remain still any longer, he stepped toward her.

She spun around to meet this threat. As she recognized him,
she softened, smiled.

Damn. He liked that. He liked that she smiled when she saw
him. He liked that she smiled
like that
.

“I found you.” His voice sounded odd to his ears.

She stood. “I wasn’t hiding.”

He put out a lip. “You left. Why did you leave?”

She nudged the loam with a slippered toe. “I just… We can’t
spend every moment together, Ethan.”

“Why not?”
Why the hell not?

She laughed, a melody in itself. “People will notice.”

“Let them notice.”

Instantly, she sobered. She placed her hand on his arm. “No
one can suspect, Ethan. If they do, this will all be for naught.” He opened his
lips to speak, to negate her words, the prospect, the very concept, but she did
not give him a chance. “Don’t you understand? This child must be accepted as
Ulster’s heir.”

His muscles drew taut in a reaction driven by displeasure.
Deep, dark displeasure, a bone-deep repudiation of her plan. “But it won’t be
Ulster’s child.” It would be his.

“And no one must know. You do see why we cannot spend every
moment together? Every night?”

No. Frankly, he didn’t. In fact, he hated the idea. All of
it.

What he wanted was to claim her, before God and everyone.
“But we can spend this moment together.” He pulled her into his arms. Kissed
her.

She didn’t protest. She didn’t so much as murmur a
complaint.

He walked her back to the stone, the long flat sun-warmed
stone and, still kissing her, laid her back upon it. He slipped his hands
behind her head and unbuttoned a few of her hellish buttons, enough to release
the bodice of her dress. Slowly, he eased the fabric away, revealing the
beautiful bounty of her breasts, bound, as they were, in her infernal chemise.

He captured one nipple and sucked, hard, until she writhed
beneath him.

“Why are you wearing this?” he complained, tweaking the
budding crest.

“Ethan—” She tried to laugh but he silenced her with a hot
mouth on her other breast. He tormented her nipples in tandem. Then he yanked
at her chemise, ignoring the ripping sound, and took her in his mouth again,
like a man who could never get enough. His cock leaped at the taste of her bare
flesh.

“Don’t ever tease me like this again.”

“Ethan. I must wear underclothes. What would my maid say?”

He glared at her. “I hardly care.” He yanked up the hem of
her dress, her petticoats with it. “Why so many layers?” he grumbled, half to
himself.

She chuckled and kicked off her stockings and slippers. She
spread her legs.

The breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, splayed
there on the stone altar of his passion, breasts bared to the breeze, legs
wide. Her cunt was exposed, open. It glistened in the licking light of the sun.

Damn. He wanted her.

He wanted to mount her and fuck her. To claim her as his own
in every way.

But his conversation with Helena, more importantly, his
conversation with James, rose in his mind. There was something more important
than fucking—than mere momentary satisfaction—at hand.

He needed to be gentle.

He needed to prove himself domesticated.

Trouble was, he wasn’t sure how.

He glanced around the clearing and inspiration dawned.

Oh, he’d show her gentility. He’d show her restraint.

“Close your eyes.”

She sat up. “Why?”

He smiled, caressed her lovely lips. “Trust me.”

She tipped her head and studied him—he had the sensation a
momentous decision was being made—and then she nodded and did as he asked,
lying back on the slab.

The sight of her compliance sent exultation shooting through
him but it was twined with a thread of trepidation. She trusted him.

It was a weight on his soul.

He would do anything to prove himself worthy of her trust.

“Put your hands over your head.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

He watched her throat work as she contemplated this command,
but she obeyed.

“Don’t move them.”

She trembled. Her lips parted. A tiny tear leaked from her
lashes. But she held her body still. Her legs apart, her breasts high, her arms
over her head. She was offering herself to him. Completely.

The thought made him impatient.

He stood and stormed around the clearing, gathering. He
plucked a leafy fern, found a thick stick and, at the edge of the lapping pool,
two small flat stones. And he returned to her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured on a sigh, even as he set
one stone and then the other on the tips of her breast.