Passionate (40 page)

“On the contrary.” His blood was pounding. He stepped forward until he was standing before her. She stood her ground, glaring at him, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. He reached out and stroked her cheek lightly with one finger. The softness of her skin nearly intoxicated him. Her lips parted at his touch, but she made no protest. “I have every purpose.”

He could not stand it any longer. He leaned over her and brushed his mouth against hers. She gasped. Desire flared through him and he reached for her, his hands closing over her silk-clad hips and drawing her close. Her body molded to his, the hiss of silk against the rougher cotton of his coat loud in the stillness. She fitted against him so perfectly. The smell of her, the taste of her…

The crack of her hand across his face stung like the devil. “Lily! What—”

“I see.” She pulled roughly away. Her tone was bitter. “Now that Lord Buckley has no more claim on me, you think I am easy prey. I will not be your wanton or your mistress, Mr. Huntington. Please go now.” Her voice broke on the last words and she turned away from him, arms tightly folded across her body. “Just go.”

“Lily,” he made his voice gentle, “I did not come for that. It is time, past time, for us to be honest with one another. Look at me.” She had to listen to him.

He let out his breath when she finally turned back to him and raised her head. “Have your say, then.”

He swallowed, and then slipped to his knees before her. His cheek throbbed where she had slapped him. Courage was in knowing fear and facing it. She had to know how he felt, no matter the consequences.

She stared at him, the firelight leaving half her face in shadow, picking glints of flame from her hair.

“I lied to you.” The words rasped from his throat. “I lied when I offered for you in Tunisia. It was not out of obligation. From the beginning of our journey, from the first time I met you, there was something that drew me to you. When I told you I despised you, that was a lie. I despised myself for having nothing to give you. I had hoped by recovering the journals that I would inherit an estate and have some chance of winning your family’s favor.”

She drew in a sharp breath, but he held up his hand. “You are more precious to me than breath, or light, or journals, or even one small, undiscovered flower. Lily, I love you. I always have.”

With a sob, she came to stand before him. “James…”

He held out his hands, palms up, and could not suppress a shiver when she placed her own above them. Heat spiraled out from where they touched. He closed his eyes, then opened them and sought her gaze. “I have no fortune. No title or lands. All I have to offer is myself. The strength of my hands and body, my mind and spirit. And my love. A love that will remain true to you, cherish you until my dying day—whatever answer you give me here tonight.”

Her eyes were wide and dark with emotion. The hands clasped over his tightened.

James drew in a shuddering breath. “Lily, is love enough? Will you marry me?”

She remained silent for a heartbeat. Two. He was steeling himself to rise, to somehow find his way out of the house and back to London.

“Yes,” she whispered. Then, more strongly, “Yes.” She knelt beside him, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I love you, James.”

He was breaking apart. His heart did not know how to contain so much joy.

“Lily,” he breathed, and drew her into his arms. With a soft sigh, she leaned into him and slid her hands up to his shoulders.

Their lips met and it was as though the weeks of self-doubt and recrimination had never been. Her touch made him whole. He moved his mouth gently over hers, re-learning the warm contours. It was she who pressed forward, parting her lips, coaxing his mouth open and exchanging her breath for his.

He spread his hands across her back and pulled her against him, yearning to feel each curve of her body imprinted on his. The silk robe slid beneath his palms and her unbound hair brushed softly over his hands. The feeling was achingly familiar. He could swear he scented the heavy richness of orange blossoms.

She leaned back and gently cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I brought it on myself. I should have spoken my heart to you so much sooner.”

Her lips curved. “We are equally guilty of that. But no more recriminations, James. Kiss me.”

He tangled his hands in her hair and gladly complied, sliding his mouth over hers and tasting her sweetness. At last. He stood, drawing her up with him, and moved them, still joined in their kiss, to stand beside the bed.

“Lily. My beautiful one,” he murmured. “Be with me.”

“Always,” she breathed.

His hands made quick work of the sash about her waist. The rich silk robe slipped off her shoulders with a single tug. “I want to see you.”

“And I you.” Fingers brushing his neck, she untied his cravat and pulled it off, then began slipping the buttons of his shirt free. The look on her face was intent, serious, and her hands explored each inch of his chest as it was revealed, leaving trails of fire on his skin. He didn’t know if he could burn any hotter, but each touch left him desiring her more.

“I could paint you like this,” she said, “All firelight and muscle and smooth skin. Perfectly male. Perfectly beautiful.” She leaned forward, trailing kisses across his chest.

“Enough. Now you.” Before the words were out of his mouth he had half the buttons of her nightdress unfastened. She took the fabric from his hands and pulled it off over her head. The firelight caressed her body and he touched her, tracing the patterns of light over her warm, soft skin. She sighed and he pulled her close against him.

Lily could not open her eyes. It must be a dream and she was nodding asleep by the fire. But no, the intimate touch of his hands moving over her naked breasts was real. She gasped—the heat of his mouth closing over one nipple was most certainly real. Her eyes flew open and she set her hands to his shoulders.

His hands moved lower, curving around her hips, smoothing down her thighs, while his mouth moved to suckle her other breast. Heat sparked between her legs and she did not know how much longer she could wait for him this time.

She did not have to. As if sensing her need, he swept her up and laid her gently on the bed. “James,” she said, holding out her arms. She wanted him lying beside her—over her, the weight of him pressed against her. Inside her.

“Patience, love.” He smiled at her. “I don’t think you want these in your bed.” He sat on the edge to pull off his boots.

“I want you in my bed. All of you. But I will allow you to take your boots off.”

“And my trousers, shall I leave those?”

“Please.” She was blushing, she could feel it, but even so she watched as his hands unfastened his trousers, allowing his manhood to spring free.

She reached and brushed her fingers over it. “Hmm. I think it needs further study, but you certainly do not resemble any flower I have ever seen.”

“How much study?” His breathing sped when she smoothed her thumb over him.

“Years. Decades.”

In one smooth motion he swung himself onto the bed and straddled her, knees on either side of her thighs, hands beside her shoulders. A fierce light burned in his eyes as he looked down at her.

“Lily. You are the flower that deserves the utmost exploration.” He bent his head to her mouth again and she arched against him, yearning for the feel of his skin against hers. It was a thrilling, yet somehow comforting sensation. He must have felt her desire, for he slowly let himself down, straightening his legs over hers until his body pressed against hers everywhere. Her legs opened of their own volition, parting under his until she could feel the tip of him there.

“Not yet,” he said against her lips. “I want you so much, but not yet.”

Before she could question why, he had slid down her body, his hands moving along her legs, pulling them wider. The feel of his mouth there, at her center, drove all her questions away. There was only soft heat and desire and the sound of her own sighs. She was becoming one of the flames flickering in the night. Oh, what he did to her—she hardly knew she could feel this way.

“Now.” His voice was rough with desire. “Now, Lily.”

“Yes.” She took him back into her arms.

His manhood was there, between her legs, sliding in deeper, deeper, until he was completely inside her. Her arms tightened around him and he went still. She had never felt so complete.

Slowly at first, he began to move in her, but she needed him closer. Lily wrapped her legs about his waist and arched her hips to meet him, welcome him. Each stroke echoed like a poem, an ancient meter of desire and love, lost and found with each new generation. She clung to him, pressing kisses against his neck and shoulders as he held himself above her and they obeyed the rule of their hearts.

Lily clenched around him and cried out. Shouting her name, James let the wildfire rush through him, let it burn away all the loneliness and despair he had carried so long.

The aftermath was like floating, both of them coming slowly back to earth, two petals borne on a languid breeze, whirling, coming to rest at last, side-by-side, on a disheveled bed in a quiet manor house in the middle of the English countryside.

Outside the stars turned, the wind rustled in the hedgerows, the whole huge breath of the night continued, waiting for dawn. All was well.

James lowered himself. They lay on their sides, legs still intertwined. The flickering light showed traces of tears on Lily’s face.

Her smile was tremulous. “I feel touched, known so deeply. I’ve never been so close to the wonder. Even painting, I grasp it for a moment, and then it’s gone. But you…James.” She buried her head against his shoulder and he pulled her in close.

The wonder. He knew it too, knew that with her by his side it would always be within reach. The world might intrude, the everyday making of their lives might push the fierce intensity away at times, but in the scent of her, the feel of her in his arms in the fire-shot dark, he would know.

Lily opened her eyes. The fire had burned low in the grate, but there was enough light to see James propped up on one elbow. He was looking at her so tenderly it made her heart ache. He said nothing, only traced her face, and smoothed her unruly hair back with a gentle hand.

A deep, unshakeable happiness lodged in her. He loved her, had followed her, had the courage to bare his heart just as she had finally looked into her own. She laughed softly.

“What is it?”

“My reputation is secure, James. Even if your cousin announces our liaison from one end of town to the other, it will not matter, because we are going to marry.”

He grinned at her. “Poetic justice. You’re right, there’s nothing Reggie can do. Not a thing.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. Another on her cheek. Then her mouth. “Wait. I nearly forgot.” He slid from the bed.

“What?” She watched him, the muscles pulling taut under his skin as he bent, hunting for his trousers. He was all sensual, manly beauty, and he was hers. One day soon she was going to lie him down on rumpled cotton and capture that lean, hard body on paper. Of course, he might insist that she be naked at the time too. In which case, it was unlikely that she would complete the sketch within a reasonable amount of time. But she would enjoy trying.

“I didn’t finish this properly before,” he said, kneeling beside the bed. He brought his closed fist up, and then slowly opened it, uncurling his fingers like a flower opening to the sun. The ring he revealed had a blue stone that glinted and winked—a sapphire, surrounded by the pale fire of tiny opals.

“It’s exquisite,” she said softly.

“No more than you are.” He slid it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, fit as though she had always worn this ring. “It is one of the few things I have that belonged to my mother. Nothing gives me greater joy than seeing you wearing it.” Emotion darkened his eyes, and she was lost in their flickering depths.

She breathed his name as he bent to kiss her, showed him her love with every touch and caress, gave herself to him as the stars faded into dawn. Her lover. Her love.

Chapter 27

Essex, England, August 1847

The pealing of the bells could be heard for miles when they left the church. The matched grays pulling their open carriage trotted effortlessly down the road, and larks swooped over the passing fields, singing as if their hearts were breaking with joy.

Lily knew that joy. She glanced over at James, who was handling the reins with a steady touch. He looked impossibly handsome, the warm sunshine striking tawny highlights from his hair and making the amber lights in his eyes dance.

He shot her a sidelong grin. “Well, wife of mine. I think we carried that off splendidly. The church was certainly full, at any rate.”

“Yes, full of my weeping relatives. Aunt Mary must have gone through at least three handkerchiefs. And Mrs. Hodge’s eyes looked suspiciously bright, don’t you think?” Even Lily’s mother had unbent enough to wish her daughter well. She had turned to her husband and said, “At least Lily is marrying. I had begun to despair of even that,” then smiled at her daughter, taking the sting from her words. And if James was not her mother’s first choice in a husband, he was certainly Lily’s.

“I think Mrs. Hodges’s state had more to do with her allergy to orange blossoms. At least that’s what she claimed.” He bent and nuzzled her hair, knocking her chaplet of white flowers askew. “I much prefer them to roses, myself. And Caroline thought they were most becoming.”

“I’m glad your cousin did not grace us with his presence. Though in some ways we are here because of him.”

“I might have preferred a less painful style of matchmaking. No, Lord Denby sent Reggie off to inspect the properties in Wales—urgent business, I’m sure.”

She shook her head, banishing all thoughts of the dark rogue. “Now tell me, where are we going? You have been very mysterious about the whole subject, although I shouldn’t complain. The last time you were so secretive I ended up being treated to the most delicious tangerines. Are you taking me somewhere to feed me citrus?”