Love Letters (11 page)

“Gabriel what—”

He pushed her thighs apart. She felt the cool night air on her sex right before his warm breath whispered seductively against her folds.

“No,” she whispered, pushing at his shoulder. He couldn’t! Gentle people just didn’t do such things. “Gabriel, please…”

His rough tongue darted out, slipping between her folds. That pulse between her legs flared with a need so desperate, she could barely stand the ache. Any embarrassment fled, only desire remained.

He kissed her; sucked on her while his tongue darted in and out, tasting. Cynthia dug her fingers into his shoulders, her head lulling backward. She was gone, completely lost in passionate delight.

The warm flush that spread through her body only added to the need twisting low in her belly. She had the oddest feeling she was tiptoeing toward some ultimate, wonderful goal, when suddenly he pulled away.

She bit back her groan of disappointment. Gabriel stood, breathing harshly, those shimmering eyes pinned to her. Bold. Silver eyes, that held hers, delved deeply into her soul. His fingers found the opening of his trousers. She had only a peek of his bulging erection, before he stepped close. She knew that in a moment it would be too late to turn back, yet still she did nothing to stop him. Was her brain merely foggy with sexual passion? Or was she really willing to risk all for this man?

“Tell me you want me.”

“Yes,” she admitted, burying her face into his neck.

Then she felt him, the thick tip of his velvet erection pressing between her folds.

“Gabriel?” she whispered, stiffening.

“It’s all right, my love.”

He cupped her bottom and pulled her forward. His arousal slid into her tight sheath.
Hard and velvety smooth.
How she ached, needed him, more of him, all of him.
She’d be ruined, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care because she
needed
him, needed Gabriel to ease that aching torment throbbing in her sex.
 

“You are mine,” he stated right before he thrust into her.

The aching need gave way to a burning sting. Cynthia gasped, her fingers biting into his shoulders. She was tight.
Too tight for him.
He drew back, looking at her with such intensity that she feared he could read her very soul. He knew. He knew she was a virgin. But he thought she was Helen, and he wasn’t expecting her to be innocent. The realization that he understood the true Helen more than she’d realized gave her pause.

She shifted, intending to move away from him, but the movement only made that beautiful ache flare to life once more. She groaned, hooking her legs around his hips, her fingers biting into his shoulders and pulling him closer.

“You are mine,” he whispered again.

Gabriel lowered his hand and touched that sensitive bud between her folds. Desire shot through Cynthia. Clenching his jaw, he pulled back slightly,
then
thrust into her once more.
Too much.
The overwhelming sensations spiraling through her were too much. She cried out, her arms tightening around his neck, her face pressed to his chest.

Dear God…it was too much.

Gabriel rocked against her, thrusting his cock further…deeper. Any thoughts, any worries vanished. A wonderful, aching pulse vibrated through her very being.
Something pure.
Something amazing.
Something wonderful.
Cynthia couldn’t help herself and a desperate whimper escaped her lips.

“Shhh,” he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

But she couldn’t keep quiet. She wanted to scream, to shout with the wonder of it all. She arched against him, drawing him deeper. She wanted more…something…something she needed to reach. His muscles grew rigid under her touch, his hard member stroking her intimate folds. He moved against her… harder, faster, thrusting deeper. The ache within tightened, almost unbearable.
 
The entire world faded away.

“Gabriel!” she called out his name over the patter of raindrops on the roof. Her entire body tightened, her sheath convulsing around him while white lightning branched through her soul. He poured his seed inside her, the warm wetness filling her and she could do nothing as she floated back to earth, nothing but hold onto him for dear life.

His breathing was harsh as he pressed his lips to her ear. “Dear God, Helen, you’ll be the death of me.”

Helen.

Cynthia’s eyes opened. Nauseating realization rushed through her. He thought she was Helen. Frantic, she pushed at his chest. “I can’t breathe.”

“All right,” he
said,
that wariness back in his eyes as he stepped away and fastened his trousers. She slipped off the window sill, her skirts falling into place. Avoiding his gaze, she sidestepped around him, leaning back against the cold marble wall. Her legs
quivered,
her thighs damp. She smelled it…sex. Their scents combined. Vaguely the sound of the ball… music and laughter…invaded their cocoon. They’d know. Every bloody person at that ball would know what she’d done.

She pressed one hand to her mouth, while pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, but she was trembling too badly to do anything useful with the linen square. Gabriel started toward her, obviously to help.

“No!” She shook her head, backing up. Her mask tilted with the movement. Frantic she shoved the lace back into place.

He stopped only a few feet from her, looking rumpled, confused,
beautiful
.
 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered. Oh God, why had this happened? She felt sick, ill.
 

“I understand,” he started toward her again but she shrank back, her fist tightening around her handkerchief. He stopped again. “I understand that we should have waited, but it’s hardly disastrous. We’ll be married—”

“No! You don’t understand!”

The handkerchief fluttered from her fingers. Because she couldn’t help herself, she stepped forward and crushed her mouth to his. It was a quick kiss, a goodbye kiss. He reached for her, but Cynthia turned from his embrace.
 

Blindly she darted out the door and into the garden. She had to escape.
Must escape before he realized her true identity.
Rain mixed with tears, thunder muffling her cries. She’d slept with her cousin’s fiancé. She’d destroyed her innocence. She’d ruined any chance for a future of marriage and happiness. She was her mother.

Chapter 3

How badly she’d wanted to sleep through the early morning rays, to snuggle deep into her blanket and continue to dream about Gabriel. Guilt and desire had kept her tossing and turning most of the night, but Cynthia couldn’t sleep late. No. Helen wanted her roses every morning, freshly cut from the small garden behind the townhouse. Cynthia hated roses. She hated gathering the blooms, hated that they always pricked her skin. Even hated the sweet smell for her aunt used the scent profusely.

When most people were still abed, she found herself standing in the damp grass wondering how she’d made such a wretched mess of her life. She paused, reaching toward a red bloom. If she had a garden, she’d have wild flowers.
Lovely, vibrant, willowy wildflowers that danced with the breeze.
But it didn’t matter what she wanted. With a bloodthirsty squeeze, she snipped the bloom, watching it tumble into her basket.

It didn’t matter that she had gotten little sleep last night. It didn’t matter that her head hurt. Or that the place between her legs was sore because she’d lost her virginity and was now thoroughly ruined. And it certainly didn’t matter that she loved Gabriel with all her heart.

She swiped her arm over her damp brow. Even this early, when the
ton
still slept and only needy were roaming the streets, the sun was hot. The wide-rimmed straw hat she wore provided shade, but did little to protect her from the heat. She tossed her long braid over her shoulder and dropped the basket to the ground. Just thinking about last night produced an ache deep within, an ache that pulled, gnawed, until she thought she’d go insane with want. She shifted, yet the ache only flared stronger.

Gabriel flashed to mind.
His strong hands sliding up her smooth thighs.
She shook the thought from her head. How could she? How could she let him kiss her, touch her, make love to her? She’d betrayed her cousin and she’d betrayed Gabriel.

Cynthia had turned into her mother after all.
A woman who’d given up her self-worth for a man who had given her nothing in return.
Guilt and shame swirled low in her gut. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Is this what had become of her? Was she so desperate for human companionship that she’d destroy herself for a touch?

No. She wouldn’t have let just anyone touch her. Truth was she hadn’t put up a fight when her aunt had forced her into Helen’s identity because she’d wanted to attend. She’d wanted to wear a fine dress, she’d wanted to feel beautiful, but most of all, she’d wanted to dance with Gabriel just once, before he and Helen were engaged. Just once, she wanted him to hold her. To pretend those letters were truly meant for her. How could she have thought that one meeting with the man would sustain her? Kissing Gabriel, making love to him, had made things so much worse!

“You look beautiful you know,” a velvet voice whispered seductively next to her ear.

She stiffened. For one brief moment she thought she dreamt. Warm hands settled on her shoulders and turned her. Before she could voice her objections, firm lips met hers. Cynthia knew that mouth, knew the taste of him. Gabriel.

He was kissing her. She wanted to sink into him, to wrap her arms around his neck. His rough tongue slid across her lips, sending shivers over her skin. She was quickly losing hold of reality.
If anyone caught them…
Oh God! She shoved the heels of her palms into his chest and pushed.

He released his hold and stepped back. Realization visibly washed over him as he studied her face. He blinked his eyes wide,
then
pressed his fingers to his lips, as if confused. “Hell, I’m so sorry.”

Heat shot to her cheeks. “Please, let us not speak of this.”

He raked a hand through his disheveled hair. He wore tight breeches and tall, polished boots. He’d been riding and he looked just as lovely as he did in his formal attire. “I thought…I thought you were someone else.”

She was trembling, blast it! “No, it’s fine. Please, let us forget the incident.”

She grabbed her basket of roses and rushed down the path. Lord! Had anyone seen them?
A servant?
Her aunt?
Helen? She’d be murdered in her sleep! Her gaze darted from window to window, but there was no movement. Oh, why had he come? Why was he here, making her believe in the impossible once more?

“Please, Cynthia. Please slow down.”

She ignored the thrill she felt at hearing her given name on his lips. “I can’t. I have things to do. They’re expecting me.”

She had to get away from him.
Must get away.
She made it to the shadows of the manor when he reached her. His strong fingers bit into her upper arm and spun her around. The flowers went flying through the air, tumbling to the ground.

“No! Look what you’ve made me do!” She dropped to her knees and reached for a bloom.

“I’m sorry.” He knelt beside her. “Please, let me help.”

Panic welled within. She couldn’t be this close to him. “No, you’ve done enough!” She wrapped her fingers around a stem. Sharp pain pierced her skin. She gasped and jerked back. A bright spot of blood marred the tip of her thumb.

“You’ve hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.” She jumped to her feet and stumbled back, her shoulder blades hitting the cold brick wall of the home. She couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t run.
She was trapped.
An insect at the end of a pin.

He stood too, towering over her. “You’re not, you’re trembling.” He was watching her closely.
Too closely.
He started toward her, she had nowhere to go.

She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut and pray this was all a dream.

He stopped only a breath away. “Here. Give me your hand.”

She kept her attention focused on the grass, afraid he’d recognize the emotion in her gaze. Part of her hoping he would. “No.”

“Now.”

She swallowed and placed her hands flat against the rough wall. How could she let him touch her? She’d melt and he’d know
,
he’d know she loved him. And he couldn’t know. He couldn’t. Men like him didn’t love women like her.
 

With a sigh, he reached down and grasped her wrist, jerking her hand forward. His fingers were warm, long,
strong
. The memory of those hands touching her thighs…breasts…rushed through her mind.
A bitter sweet memory.
She bit her lower lip to keep from curling her hand into his. Much to her horror, tears burned her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. And even as she thought the words, a tear slipped down her cheek. He glanced up, saw the tear, but didn’t say a word.
Gentleman that he was.
She knew she should look away, but couldn’t seem to. Those eyes… those beautiful silver eyes held her captive.