Otherwise Engaged (14 page)

She put her arms around his waist and gave herself up to the embrace with the sense of exhilaration and excitement she always experienced when he touched her.

He must have felt the heat of the flames that were sweeping through her because his mouth was suddenly, devastatingly hot on hers.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the far end of the aisle of horse stalls. There he stood her on her feet. He removed the coat from her shoulders. She watched him take a pristine white handkerchief out of one pocket. Then he took out another object and set it aside. She heard the soft clink of metal and caught a glimpse of moonlight glinting on the barrel of a gun. No wonder the coat had felt so heavy. He spread it across a pile of straw.

She was about to ask him if he needed the handkerchief because he feared the hay might cause him to sneeze, but then he wrapped his arms around her again and kissed her, silencing the question.

She was fascinated and enthralled by the electric currents that swirled and roiled just beneath the surface of the man. They aroused her in ways she had never dreamed possible.

His hands moved on her, following the shape of her from breasts
to waist. She felt his fingers searching for the hooks that closed the front of the gown. A moment later the stiff bodice fell open revealing the thin lawn camisole beneath. When he touched her breasts through the light fabric, everything inside her tightened.

“Benedict,” she whispered.

He eased the gown downward until it tumbled into a sea of satin and silk around her ankles. He untied the petticoat with its small bustle and let both undergarments fall away. She was left clad in the filmy camisole, stockings and drawers.

“You are so lovely,” Benedict said. He drew his hands up her arms until he reached her throat. He framed her face between his palms and kissed her with reverent hunger.

Shaken, she clutched at his shoulders to steady herself. His black bow tie appeared in stark contrast to his crisp white shirt. She fumbled with the tie until she got it undone. The ends trailed around his neck.

She went to work on the fastenings of his shirt. When she finally got it open, she slid her hands inside. Her fingers brushed lightly across his chest. She thrilled to the feel of his sleek muscles and warm skin. She had not touched him so intimately since the days and nights on the ship when she had nursed him through the fever and changed the bloody bandages. It was so good to find him strong and healthy once again, she thought.

But when her questing fingers discovered the raised, scarred skin that marked the now-healed wound, Benedict sucked in a sharp breath.

She flinched and swiftly moved her hand away from the scar. “I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“No.” He caught one of her hands and flattened her palm against his chest again. “No, it’s all right. The wound is still a little tender
but you did not hurt me. When you touched me there, I was reminded of the night I awoke from the fever to see you curled up in a chair, watching over me. I knew then that you had saved my life.”

She smiled. “The first thing you wanted to know after you concluded that you were not dead was if the letter was safe.”

“And you assured me that it was still hidden in your satchel.”

He drew her down onto the bed of straw. They lay together on his coat. In the moonlight she could see the dark heat of sexual desire in his eyes.

“I am not in the grip of a fever tonight.” He rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she tumbled across his chest. “And the only pain I am experiencing at the moment is the sort caused by desire. Tonight I know exactly what I am doing. I want you, Amity, more than I have ever wanted any woman in my life.”

A thrilling awareness flashed through her. She clutched his shoulders and met his eyes, letting him know that she was ready for the adventure that awaited her.

“I want you, as well,” she said. “More than anything or anyone.”

He pulled her head down to his and kissed her again, a heavy, drugging kiss that ignited her senses. She felt his hands glide up her thighs under the hem of the camisole. When he touched her intimately between her legs it was her turn to take a sharp, astonished breath, but she did not relax her grip on his shoulders. Everything inside her seemed to be melting.

He stroked her in places where no man had ever touched her, eliciting sensations that she had sensed existed but had never really known. She was an experienced traveler but this was one journey she had never undertaken, perhaps because she had never encountered the right travel companion, she thought. But tonight everything felt
right. This was the man, the place and the time. Those factors might never come together again. She must seize the moment or forever regret her failure of nerve.

An unfamiliar tension was building inside her. She knew Benedict’s hand was wet from the damp heat he had drawn forth with his touch. Part of her was embarrassed, but he certainly did not seem to mind and she was too excited to pull away.

He turned her onto her back and leaned over her, probing her gently. His mouth closed over one breast and she found herself arching against him in a silent plea for more.

He released her to open the front of his trousers. A shock of uncertainty went through her when she saw the hard, rigid length of him revealed in the silver light.

“I’m not sure—” she began.

He loomed over her again, blocking out the moonlight, and silenced her with a kiss.

“Touch me,” he said against her mouth. “You don’t know how I have longed to feel your hand on me.”

Cautiously she encircled him with her fingers. He groaned. She started to move her hand slowly, experimentally. His breathing grew harsh in her ears, as if he was having to exert enormous control. His brow was as damp with sweat as it had been when he was in the grip of the fever.

He raised his head. In the deep shadows his face was stark and intense. His eyes gleamed with a dark desire. Knowing that he wanted her so badly was all it took to overcome the last vestiges of her uncertainty.

He stroked her until she was breathless. Until the tension inside her was wound so tight she thought she could not bear it any longer. She sank her nails into his shoulders.

Her release blindsided her. Without warning the tight, heavy, throbbing sensation inside her burst forth in a series of pulsing waves. A rush of euphoric surprise took her by storm and suddenly she was flying.

Benedict braced himself above her and used one hand to guide himself to her core. He thrust into her in one long, relentless stroke.

The invasion brought her crashing back to earth. She gave a small, choked shriek and instinctively tried to pull away. Her nails became claws on the front of Benedict’s shirt.

Benedict gripped her hips tightly, anchoring her.

“Relax,” he urged. He rested his damp forehead on hers. “Just relax.”

For a moment she dared not move. Neither did he. She could feel the fierce knots of the muscles of his back beneath her hands. He was struggling for control of his passions while he waited for her to get over the initial shock. The knowledge that he was forced to work so hard to restrain himself reassured her.

Slowly her body adjusted to him. Taking a quick breath, she dared to wriggle a little in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Benedict groaned and started to move, cautiously at first and then with increasing confidence. She found the sensation strange and uncomfortable but no longer intolerable.

“Are you all right?” he said into her ear.

“I think so,” she said. “It is certainly no worse than riding a camel.”

He uttered an exclamation that sounded like a cross between a growl and a laugh. And then he began to move more rapidly, increasing the speed and power of each thrust until she was once again breathless, once again clinging to him for dear life.

He drove into her one last time. Everything about him went taut, his sleek back bowed. And then he stunned her by wrenching free
of her tightly stretched body. He spent himself into the handkerchief, his climax raging through him in powerful waves that seemed to go on forever.

When it was over Benedict collapsed beside her. His eyes were closed. In spite of the discomfort and the uncertainty of the future, the sheer wonder of the moment thrilled her.

She had just made one of life’s most mysterious journeys and discovered what lay at the end of the adventure. She knew now what it was like to take a lover.

A
re you certain you are all right?” Benedict asked again.

It was the third or fourth time he had inquired after her health and each time he sounded a little more brusque; impatient, even. They were in his carriage, heading back to Exton Street. Benedict had hustled her away from the ball immediately after the encounter in the stables. It was just as well, Amity thought. Her hair had come free of the pins and she was still picking bits of straw off her gown.

“Do stop fretting, sir, I am quite well, thank you,” Amity said. She suspected that with each reassurance she sounded more annoyed.

Good heavens, they were practically quarreling.

The ending to what should have been one of the most important, most exciting and certainly most romantic nights of her life was proving to be a colossal disappointment. So much for taking a lover, she thought. If this was all there was to the business, it was difficult
to fathom why so many people went out of their way to engage in illicit liaisons.

She understood the necessity of the hasty retreat—neither of them needed any more scandal. But it was the cool, efficient manner in which Benedict had managed things that bothered her. He had arranged the departure from the Gilmore mansion with the skill and precision of a battlefield commander—no, not a military commander—an engineer. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he already regretted the passionate interlude.

Now, to make matters worse, Benedict kept asking her if she was all right. It was good for a gentleman to be concerned about his lover after a heated session of lovemaking. But there did not seem to be anything the least romantic about his inquiries. He sounded worried. Perhaps he expected her to faint from the shock of the experience.

An acute silence settled inside the cab. She kept her attention focused on the misty street scene. Gas lamps and carriage lights appeared and disappeared in the fog.

Benedict stirred on the opposite seat. “Amity—”

“If you inquire into my health one more time,” she said, speaking through set teeth, “I promise you I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

In the low glow of the lamp his eyes narrowed and the hard planes and angles of his face tightened into a grim mask. “What the devil do you mean by that? It’s only natural that I am concerned about you. I did not realize that you had never experienced passion.”

“For heaven’s sake, sir, I am not a naïve eighteen-year-old miss who had no idea what she was about tonight. How many times have I told you that I am a woman of the world?”

“Too many times, evidently, because I believed you.”

“I assure you I am not going to suffer a fit of the vapors just because of what happened in the stables.”

“Just
because of what happened?” he repeated, his tone turning ominous.

“Well, it’s not as if what passed between us was anything remarkably extraordinary or revolutionary, now was it? Couples do that sort of thing quite frequently, do they not?”

“I believe you remarked that it was no worse than riding a camel.”

“Oh, right.” It dawned on her that perhaps she had hurt his feelings. She gave him a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, sir. One soon grows accustomed to a camel’s stride. With time and experience, the jostling and swaying become second nature.”

Benedict looked as if he was about to respond to that comment, but fortunately the carriage came to a halt. He hesitated briefly and then, clearly frustrated and decidedly grim, he opened the door. He got out of the carriage and turned to assist Amity.

She collected her skirts and took his hand. His fingers clamped around hers. Without a word they went up the front steps. She took the key out of the tiny evening bag attached to the chatelaine that held the tessen. Benedict took the key from her and opened the front door. The hall lamps were still ablaze but the lights had been turned off in the rest of the house. Penny and Mrs. Houston had both gone to bed.

Amity knew a sense of relief and stepped inside. She really did not want to engage in an extended conversation with Penny at that particular moment. There would be questions about the state of her hair and the straw clinging to her gown.

Benedict loomed on the threshold. “I will call on you tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course,” she said briskly. “We must consider the new direction of our investigation.”

He seemed to fortify himself. “Amity, I realize that tonight was not all that you expected or hoped it would be.”

She flushed. “I would rather not discuss it.”

“The location was hardly romantic and the timing was not good.”

She took a tight breath. “If you are about to tell me that you regret the incident—”

“Not entirely,” he said. “To say that I regret what happened would be a lie.”

Not entirely. For some silly reason she was now on the verge of tears. She fought them, rallying her defenses.

“Neither do I,” she said. She was aware that her voice sounded oddly tight. “Not entirely. And you must not blame yourself. It is my own fault that I had imagined a somewhat different experience, but in the end it was all very educational.”

“Educational.”

She managed a bright smile. “That is the lure of embarking on a new journey, is it not? To experience new sensations and explore the unknown? Now, if you don’t mind, I would very much like to go to bed. I find myself quite exhausted.”

He did not move, so she was obliged to close the door gently but firmly in his face. For a moment she stood there, listening intently. Eventually she heard Benedict go down the steps. The door of the carriage opened and closed. The vehicle rolled away into the night.

She waited a moment longer. The tears that she had managed to restrain squeezed out of her eyes. She used the back of her glove to wipe the moisture away.

She turned down the hall lamps and went up the stairs. Penny’s door opened. For a moment Amity just looked at her, too choked up to speak.

“My dear sister,” Penny whispered. “What has he done to you?”

“It is not what he did to me,” Amity said. “It is that I think he wishes he had not done it in the first place. And it is, at least in part, my fault because I wanted him to do it.”

Penny put her arms around her. Amity let the tears fall.