One Whisper Away (30 page)

His dark eyes took on a singular sensual glimmer. “For fear I might take unforgivable liberties?”

“But as you are going to soon be my husband—”

“Very soon.”

“It is allowed,” she finished her sentence.

“I interpret that as being given oblique permission to take said liberties.”

“I think your misspent youth is asserting itself, Lord Augustine,” she replied, her tone teasing. “That was not implied at all. What was implied was that you are honorable enough to be trusted to ride out with me without a chaperone because you have already offered to wed me.”

“
Honor
is a flexible term, isn’t it? The English sense of it isn’t quite the same as mine, I’m afraid.” He moved his horse close enough that his leg brushed her skirts as he gazed at the lazy bend of the river ahead of them, the water slow and clear.

Yes, he
was
honorable. A man who would never neglect his daughter, no matter the circumstances of her birth. He clearly adored her. She said, “Addie is delightful.”

“Most of the time.” His smile was indulgent. “Even the most doting father cannot say she is perfect. But she does have a glowing outlook on life that is contagious. That mongrel she has adopted is proof that she looks at the world with a predisposition toward benevolence. I think he was not only the smallest of the litter, but the least attractive specimen. It was love at first sight.”

As lightly as possible, Cecily said, “I don’t doubt the existence of that phenomenon.”

Instead of addressing the comment, he gazed at the clear water. “Tell me, do you swim?”

How could he even ask that question? Proper young ladies were not supposed to learn how to swim, mostly because they were not allowed to shed enough clothing that they could get into the water and not drown themselves.

As ever, her future husband was extraordinarily unversed in proper behavior.

Cecily took a moment and decided that since he wasn’t particular about propriety, he wouldn’t be scandalized. “I would not ordinarily confess this, but Roddy taught me. Eleanor bullied him into teaching both of us. When she is determined to learn something, she is quite intimidating.”

His smile was a slow, attractive curve of his lips, the sinful arc beguiling and seductive. “Then perhaps we should find a sheltered spot. It’s warm, and I can’t tell you how much I have missed the water. At home I swim every day if possible. Have I told you about the lakes near where I was raised? They are crystal clear and deep.”

“My hair,” she said ridiculously, for while she might not be deeply experienced, she already recognized the hungry look in his eyes. “I cannot return to the house disheveled. My grandmother would go into an apoplexy at any time, but with a house full of guests, she’d be furious with me.”

No exaggeration there. So why was she tempted?

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t get wet.”

She protested one last time. “Jonathan . . . we . . . we can’t. It’s light out.”

He stopped his horse along the bank and slipped out of the saddle in one of those lithe, athletic movements that she found so fascinating. “Light,” he informed her as he took the reins of her horse, “makes it all the more interesting.”

W
as he tempting fate? Jonathan wondered as he lifted Cecily from her mount, his hands spanning her slender waist, his mood restive. It seemed now that the decision was made in his mind to marry her, he considered it over and done with.

It
was
simple enough. She was his. He’d claimed her. She’d lain with him, and he’d given her his seed without any of the precautions he normally took. Addie’s birth had had a profound effect on any reckless sexual tendencies, but with Cecily it hadn’t even occurred to him to try to prevent the conception of a child.

In his eyes—in the eyes of
his
God—he and Cecily were already joined. Whatever ceremony followed was in his opinion insignificant compared to the commitment they’d already made to each other.

He ran a fingertip over the curve of her smooth cheek. “You belong to me.”

“Spoken like some imperious chieftain,” she informed him tartly, though she began to unfasten her riding habit. “But if you are determined to swim, my lord, I’ve already proven myself unable to resist your persuasion.”

His fondness for spirited English ladies was growing by the moment. “It’s a warm day and no one is about.” He also began to undress, unbuttoning his shirt. “Besides, not all the persuasion has been mine alone if memory serves. The night of our carriage mishap I believe
you
approached
me
.”

Her tawny eyes held a hint of playfulness as she shed her tailored dark blue jacket. “That was the night you first kissed me, so I make no apology.”

“As I recall, against my cousin’s advice, I tossed all caution to the wind and accepted your desire for a private conversation with alacrity.” His shirt landed on the grass.

“We have a mutual recklessness then.” Her skirt slipped off and she bent to remove her half-boots.

When she smiled that way . . . it undid him.

And she was perfectly correct. They did have a common bond of less than demure behavior when around each other, and to his mind, nothing could be more indicative of a love affair.

Perhaps he was a romantic after all, for he found her inability to resist him to be highly arousing.

Though the scenery might lack the drama of the more rugged terrain of mountains and valleys, England held its own charm, especially on a day such as this. The sky was blue, the pastures green, and the river moved slowly past, the water silently beckoning. This corner of the park was far enough away from the house that even with guests he wasn’t worried about them being discovered. He sat down on a rock to tug off his boots with impatience, tossing them both carelessly aside. Their horses were already grazing on the soft grass of the riverbank, reins dangling.

He needed her. Wanted her. “Cecily,” he murmured, the sight of her in her chemise so enticing he almost didn’t catch himself just before he disordered her neat chignon despite his promise, self-control just an abstract concept in a moment like this one. He craved the tactile sensation of her hair spilling over his hands, the silken softness of it against his skin, the scent of it against his face. But, for the sake of propriety, they needed to be careful.

Unrestrained passion had its merits, but she was undoubtedly right about her grandmother, and the last person he wanted to antagonize was the dowager duchess.

Slow
. . .

He didn’t question Cecily’s capitulation. He was ten years older, infinitely more experienced, and she responded to him so sweetly he knew she was not going to resist this seduction.

“Let me,” he urged, his voice going low, his hands sliding over her slim shoulders, along the lacy neckline of her shift to the ribbon holding the bodice together. He slipped it free and the material parted, revealing the rounded curves of her breasts—not overly large but beautifully feminine, with those blush-tinted nipples he’d tasted and teased to taut peaks the night when they’d first explored passion together.

The night that had irrevocably changed his life.

Jonathan cupped her, his fingers dark against the ivory of her skin, his arousal already so pronounced that the material of his breeches was uncomfortable. “You terrify me, Lady Cecily.”

That statement, said so matter-of-factly, startled her, bringing her gaze to his, her eyes widening in obvious question.

In answer he slid the chemise from her shoulders, making her gasp and frantically try to snatch it back up. “Jonathan!”

He just grinned. “Have you never gone swimming naked?”

“No, of course not!”

Before she could retrieve the discarded garment he lifted her, wading into the river with her in his arms, still clad in his breeches, her nude body warm against him, the slight sound she uttered as the cool water made contact with her skin just as intoxicating as her perfect pale beauty.

He’d just told her the truth. It always frightened him to have this depth of feeling for another human being. Adela had now and again the usual aliments of childhood, and each time she became fevered or showed signs of illness, he had to conquer an inner panic.

Love was risky. He’d lost his mother very young and that had been difficult enough, but he’d been a man when his father died and maturity had done nothing to lessen the pain of the loss. Holding Cecily close, he understood the fragility of bone and flesh, the comprehension unwelcome, for what he wanted most in his life was to protect her and keep her safe.

They were going to be a family. He cherished the idea of it, and yes, it terrified him as well.

“Jonathan, I—”

This was not the time to explain. He was only slowly getting used to the notion of being deeply in love himself, and above them the sky was an azure arch, the water was soothing, and they were alone and skin to skin. Making love held a greater appeal than discussing his feelings, which he didn’t do often anyway. “Prove to me you can actually swim.” He interrupted whatever she was going to say, his tone deliberately teasing as he lowered her into the water, still carefully holding on to her even though where he stood it was only about waistdeep. “I have my doubts about proper English ladies actually having that skill.”

If looks could kill, he might be dead and gone, but she was so enchanting, the pale globes of her breasts lapped by the water, her hair still neatly coiffed—even if he would prefer it loose—that he smothered a laugh.

“I think you might be disabused of that notion, my lord.”

 

Cecily struck out, the cool water streaming over her shoulders, memories of childhood flooding back—she and Roderick and Eleanor sneaking off to swim, which was decidedly against the rules.

So was this. Especially when she turned to see that Jonathan had stepped out of the river to shed his breeches and cut the water in a clean dive, surfacing so close to her she caught her breath.

His sleek dark head rose from the water, and he shook the hair out of his eyes, his teeth gleaming in a boyish grin. “Ahh, if this is what English house parties consist of, I am going to accept every single invitation that comes my way. Delicious wet naked ladies on warm summer afternoons are a definite incentive.”

Treading water, Cecily gave him a mock glare. “Only one wet naked lady, I hope.”

“Only one,” he agreed softly.

And she believed him. Part of it was the sudden seriousness in his eyes. Part of it was how he reached for her to draw her close. He was tall enough that he could stand, and she drifted willingly into the circle of his arms, his strength holding her easily. “Just me?”

“Just you,” he agreed and kissed her.

She was new to this. To the sublime power of heady desire, to the freedom of sharing with another person after being raised with the stricture that one must not touch or be touched, that concealing clothing was a must, that any hint of indiscretion should be abruptly stifled and hidden. Here she was, in the afternoon sun no less, in the arms of her lover, and from the hard length of his erection against her stomach, she gathered that this forbidden interlude was going to proceed very pleasurably.

And she had never been so right.

When he cupped her bottom and adjusted her position, she closed her eyes as he seemed to be able to precisely gauge the right angle to hold her for his heated entry between her parted thighs, the contrast of the cool water and his importunate need both stark and exciting.

All coherent thought stopped at that moment.

He moved inside her, she moved at his urging in response; his hands on her hips, holding, supporting . . . Cecily arched back, the pleasure enfolding her with an insidious grasp at the penetration. It went without saying that she’d never made love in the water before because her only experience had been with him that night in her bedroom.

This was different. Of course it was. No closely drawn drapes. No shrouded interiors. No rules. Just her and her untamed lover Lord Augustine in the river in the late afternoon, naked and entwined.

If she thought about it too much it would ruin the glory of the moment, and as he moved in a subtle dance of invasion and retreat, Cecily decided it was indeed glorious.

Pleasurable.

Maybe even primal, but then again Jonathan wasn’t exactly governable under any circumstances and certainly this didn’t qualify. His lips feathered across her temple even as he took her. “I need you.”

She ran her fingers through his damp hair. “So you’ve said.”

“You aren’t aware of it now?” His erection was deep inside her, so he had a point.

Close, clinging to him, Cecily exhaled. Every nerve ending was on fire, her entire body tingling. “I’m not aware of anything in particular right now . . . Jonathan, can you . . . please . . . help me?”

He could, she discovered several drowning moments later, the pleasure a combination of the soft evening, his touch, their joining, and the passive glide of the river. He held her close, she shuddered in rapture in his embrace, and the pleasure peaked so vividly she lost the breath from her lungs.

It made her want to cry with joy.

It made her want to admit that she was in love. But as they trembled together, she bit her lip and pressed her face into his throat and thought about being a dutiful wife.

A countess. A mother.

Lady Augustine.

Maybe she’d rather be Lady Savage.

The moment lingered, the smooth sensation of the water caressing her back, the hold of his arms. . . . It was inevitable that eventually he shifted, his muscular body hard against hers, and then withdrew from her body, though with a smile he still gently supported her in the water. “Now do you see why I am such an advocate of making love in the daylight?”