One Whisper Away (24 page)

A confession of such a magnitude he couldn’t quite believe he’d said it out loud, but then again, it was true. She was going to be his wife. He would settle for nothing else, and though physical desire was important between a man and a woman, it was only a fraction of a life made up of many parts.

The communion of their souls was just as important.

Her eyes were suddenly luminous and her voice hushed. “Jonathan.”

“I think,” he said with remarkable control in his opinion since his body was going up in flames, “this discussion ends here. We can talk later.”

The cup of his palm around her breast stopped whatever words of prudence she might have uttered. Cecily gasped as his thumb circled her nipple through the fine material of her nightdress and she arched in artless enjoyment even at that simple caress.

Good. He liked his bed partners enthusiastic and had known from the first time he took her in his arms that she was not just beautiful but beautifully responsive. “This first.” He pulled the ribbon on her bodice free and eased the garment over her shoulders, revealing creamy skin and full, firm breasts, his breath catching in his throat at her beauty even though he’d known all along it would be exactly this way. The lift of her hips to allow him to completely slide the fine lawn over the length of her legs and toss it aside implied a trust that humbled him, reflected also in her unusual tawny eyes as she watched him in a mixture of shyness and female triumph, as he stared at her unveiled body.

Woman incarnate. Supple limbs, soft curves, unbound golden hair . . .

He was lost, but he’d
been
lost since that initial champagne spill and his less than gentlemanly rescue, and he was no longer fighting it.

With a fingertip, he touched one taut nipple. “You are exquisite.”

“I haven’t seen
you
.” Though her hands clenched in the bed linens, she didn’t move to cover herself. He didn’t have to be particularly insightful to know from the bright color in her cheeks that she wanted to tug the sheet up. A blush of pink infused her skin from head to toe, actually, and the delectable heated scent of woman and roses made his erection surge.

As if he needed more encouragement. Jonathan eased off the bed and fought the fastenings over the prominent bulge in his breeches, well aware of her watching the movement of his fingers. He shoved the material down his hips and impatiently stepped free. Then he joined her again, covering her lightly before the flare of alarm in her eyes became fear over his aroused state, his kisses gentle on her mouth, her eyelids, at the hollow beneath her ear. “Now you’ve seen me,” he whispered. “You’ve seen my desire for you. I want you eager, sweetheart, not afraid.”

Slim fingers ran down his back. “I’m not afraid of you,” she told him haltingly between soft, sweet kisses, “but I have no idea what to do.”

His inner smile was heartfelt. “You don’t have to know what to do. Nature did that for us. Don’t you trust in your instincts?”

Languid beneath him, her eyes soft as honey, Cecily shook her head, but she gasped as he stroked his hand up her rib cage to touch her bare breast. “I’m not a . . .”

“Heathen?” he supplied ironically, not inclined to debate their disparate heritage when what he wanted most in his life was in his grasp—literally, his fingers cupping her resilient flesh.

“Not the word I’d have selected . . . oh, Jonathan . . .” She arched her back at his touch, which was as arousing as hell.

When he bent his head to her breast, she stopped speaking, but as he began to lick and tease her erect nipples, first one and then the other, it struck him that he knew she was telling the truth.

She would
never
have chosen the word
heathen
.

It didn’t exist in her to hold his mixed blood against him, and maybe that was one of the reasons, besides her incomparable allure, that he’d fallen in love with her so easily.

Was he in love? By the gods—his included—yes, he was coming to the conclusion that was what had happened. Their chance meeting in the crowded ballroom, those fiery kisses, the amber stone . . .

He loved her. His mind tried to put together some coherent thought as he savored the soft sweetness of her skin, because he’d invited himself like an invading warrior. But he would have to worry about that later. Much, much later . . .

This conquest would be done properly.

“There’s nothing you can do wrong, trust me.” His fingers slid downward over the curve of her hip, his mouth warm against her nipple, his tongue tracing a ring around the taut pink crest. “I’m like a man starved for a meal and you are so very . . .
delicious
.”

Her fingers ran into his hair, lifting the strands, her body shivering under his ministrations. “Oh.”

“Let me handle everything.” The double entendre was smoothly said, but it was
his
breathing that was uneven as he kissed a seductive path down her stomach. He gently urged her legs apart and contemplated the fastest path to make sure a female found sexual satisfaction. It was a simple enough method if he could gain her cooperation. Her innocence was an issue, and from the sudden tension in her slender body just from his hands on her inner thighs, this might not be easily done.

“You’ll like this,” he assured her, kissing the satin skin of her inner thigh. “Relax. You do understand you are going to have to trust me? Lovers trust each other, and wives especially must have faith in their husbands.”

“I haven’t said I’ll marry you, Lord Augustine.”

That was the crux of the matter, but Jonathan knew enough about her to assure himself that they would not be naked in bed together if she didn’t intend to marry him. He grinned. “Haven’t you?” His thumb traced the seam of her labia and she quivered again.

Perfect. Every delectable inch of her.

“No.” A whisper.

“Is it arrogant of me to believe I can convince you?” He dropped a light kiss on the dainty patch of her pubic hair and parted the folds of her sex with his fingertips very delicately. The small sensitive bud that he knew would stimulate her to climax was pink and exposed, and she did her best to turn away, but he caught her hip and held her still. “Don’t panic now.” He licked the luscious curve of the back of her knee. “I’m just beginning.”

 

It was incomprehensible, but Jonathan’s intent seemed quite clear, and Cecily let out a small cry of protest when he put his mouth wickedly between her trembling thighs.

She’d never been so shocked in her life.

It was infinitely sinful.

Completely indecent.

Terribly wonderful.

Sensation rippled through her body, the simple word
pleasure
taking on a whole new meaning. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening to her body, but it was irresistible, confounding, and as her eyes drifted shut, she wondered how she could possibly let him do something so outrageous and simultaneously begged him silently not to stop. The ebony silk of his hair against her skin, the clasp of his hands against her hips, the erotic teasing of his tongue . . .

Rapture thrummed through her in small, wild pulses and she couldn’t help but clutch his wide shoulders, wanting to protest the intimate contact but unable to speak. Instead her breath came in small panting bursts, which would normally embarrass her, but that was hardly foremost in her mind.

The culmination was intemperate, brought on as the tension built, like adding layer upon layer, and Cecily vaguely knew she’d shed all modesty and opened her legs wider, inviting the scandalous contact. When the firestorm finally burst, she melted in a shower of sparks and bright lights, the wash of physical joy a miracle, a revelation in the definition of idyllic, a crescendo of pure rapture like she’d never imagined existed.

Life would never be the same.

“Shhh.” Jonathan kissed her. Lost, drifting, she didn’t really realize he’d moved until his mouth touched hers, his tall body propped above her, his hair brushing her cheek. “You promised to be quiet, love.”

The slight lilt of laughter in his voice registered, but she was too sated to resent it.

Had she made a sound? She certainly didn’t know, but what she did come to realize was that he’d adjusted himself between her thighs, and there was a pressure as he positioned his rigid cock at her female entrance and began to enter her.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so overcome by just his presence, by the ramifications of having him in her bedroom at this hour, of being alone with him, being entirely nude in his arms, she might have been more afraid. But as he slowly invaded her body inch by inch, Cecily instead tightened her arms around his neck and did her best not to resist the inexorable possession, her face pressed to his brawny shoulder.

He spoke to her then. In little phrases that meant nothing because the lyrical language was so different from any she’d ever been taught or heard, and she clung to him and tried to assimilate both the experience and the captivating sound of his voice. There was a sting of pain that made her stiffen as her virginity was lost, but it passed as quickly as a summer cloudburst, to be replaced by the experience of him embedded in her body, joining them fully.

It was hot, inflaming, and as much as she knew he should not be there in her bed, the part of her mind that was capable of reason reminded her that he wished to marry her—he’d petitioned to her father, no less—and so, in light of that commitment, they could do this.

This glorious primitive act that she hadn’t quite imagined, even as he slid backward, and then penetrated her again, deeply and powerfully, his hips flexing against her thighs, was beyond comprehension, she decided. Not just the sensation of bare skin to bare skin, the clasp of his arms, the look in his dark eyes, but . . . Jonathan’s breath hissed out, and for the first time since she’d met him at that fateful ball, his face held a singular vulnerability.

“Cecily. . . .” His features were drawn and tight, as were the muscles under her hands. “This needs to be for the both of us. Tell me I’m not hurting you.”

“No.” She reveled in the taut hardness of his back, of the way he moved in her, the slick friction unique. “No,” she repeated, the word barely audible. It wasn’t quite comfortable yet, but he definitely wasn’t hurting her and it was getting better by the moment.

“Good.” His smile was an elusive ghost, barely glossing his mouth, his dark hair loose and touching her face as he moved. “For I don’t think I could stop now if the north wind whispered in my ear.”

She had no idea what he meant, but she discovered it moments later as she began to experience that same unique excitement, the shuddering prelude to that tumultuous joy. It came as a flicker first, like the initial streak of the rising sun at dawn, and built, growing as Jonathan thrust and retreated, his movements increasing subtly in speed, his half-closed eyes watching her face.

“Ohh . . .” Cecily held on to the hard bulge of his biceps and trembled into the next glide of sex into sex, wondering how this glorious act could be such a wellkept secret, for surely, if everyone knew . . . there would be no virgins left in England.

It came in a burst of brilliant color, so persuasive that she was lost in the blissful peaking event, only barely cognizant that Jonathan held her closer and went very still, the pulse of his sex within her accompanied by a low groan.

In the aftermath, she lay limp and breathless beneath him, not quite sure how to interpret the experience. Pleasure, some pain—thankfully only fleeting—and an emphasis on how large he was to her slender form, but also how tender and considerate a man could be when he took care with his lover.

And he
had
taken care with her. She was aware of the gentle drift of his long fingers through her hair and he lifted his head, smiling down at her with lazy male confidence. “Will you?”

“What?” She wasn’t quite capable of forming a coherent thought. Damp, breathless, skin to skin with none other than Earl Savage . . .

“Marry me.”

She blinked.

His brows quirked upward. “You’d forgotten the reason for my visit?” Well, if she had, it was entirely his fault. For seducing her.

Absolutely she had to marry him. No doubt about it, and even if he wasn’t braced above her on his elbows, giving her that slow, evocative smile, she would have agreed.

“You don’t want to live here.” Her voice was hushed, for truly she was still bereft of breath, her entire being tingling.

“We can discuss it later.”

No
. She should never agree to postpone such an important conversation, and she knew it. Her father’s strictures came to mind, as if men normally cared about what women wanted. “Not later,” she managed to say, liberality important to her. “I am
not
going to marry someone who simply wants to own me and issue dictates.”

Jonathan undid her then. It was as easy as a small smile and a sentence. He said softly, “You aren’t a possession; you’re a gift from the gods. And I will not force you to go to America if you don’t wish it.”

That was a relief. Now that she had lain with him, if he went to her father and told the truth, all choice would be taken from her. “Thank you.” She watched his expression very carefully. “What of your daughter?”

Their bodies were still intimately joined, and her hands on his back felt the immediate tension in the muscles under her fingertips. “Adela? What specifically is the question?”

“I don’t know much about children. Will she like me?”

“
That
is your concern?” He kissed her temple and his voice was audibly thicker when he spoke again. “Whether or not a five-year-old child will like you? No wonder you bewitch me, my lady. In answer, yes, she will adore you.”

“Why didn’t you marry her mother?”

There. I asked it
.

For their future, she very much wanted to know.