Seduced by His Touch (12 page)

Relentless, he scissored his fingers inside her. Open, then closed, then open again. “Shall I stop?”

“No!” she sobbed, abandoning all caution or control.

Then suddenly he did everything at once—circling and scissoring and rubbing. The combination proved too much, bliss crashing over her in a dark, merciless wave.

Her senses went flying, whirling as thoughts and emotions tumbled through her with an intensity that made her earlier intoxication seem as nothing. She felt drunk. Drunk and delirious, glowing from a surfeit of delight that was humming like bottled lightning in her system.

Good God,
she thought,
no wonder women beg to be in his bed. No wonder they’re willing to risk everything for even a taste of this. Of him.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before he began again, caressing her with a deep, intimate massage that instantly ignited her desire. Need swamped her, building so fast it was all she could do to hang on and hope she didn’t shatter before he brought her to release again. She was poised on the edge, held in the grip of a hunger so strong she was shaking from the force of it.

Then, with no warning at all, he stopped and moved away. For a second, his withdrawal made no sense, her body throbbing with a savage intensity that demanded satisfaction. “Jack?” she called, rising up slightly on her elbows. “What are you doing?”

“Disrobing,” he told her as he climbed from the bed. “Not to worry. I will be back to pleasure you in a trice.”

“You’d better be,” she said without considering her words.

He chuckled at her candor, his nimble fingers moving to open the buttons on his waistcoat, shirt and pantaloons.

She watched him with brazen interest, reclining against the pillows as he revealed inch by delicious inch of hard masculine flesh. The sight of him made her giddy. He was better than any Grecian sculpture she’d ever seen—long and tall where he should be, broad across the shoulders, but equally narrow at the hips. Muscles flexed beneath his superb physique, powerful bone and sinew covered by taut, supple skin. A dusting of short dark hair grew on his powerful legs and across his elegant forearms. His chest was covered by a heavier thatch of nearly black hair. A line of it tapered downward across his flat stomach, then all but disappeared, before flaring out again around his groin.

It was this last part of him that fixed her attention most completely. From the instant he stripped off his pantaloons and drawers, she couldn’t look away. Without conscious awareness, she riveted her gaze on his swollen shaft, taking note of its rampant length and girth. He paused for a few moments—hands on his hips as if he were letting her study him.

“You don’t look anything like Terrence,” she said, not realizing she’d said the words aloud until they were already out of her mouth.

He quirked a brow. “I believe I shall take that as a compliment.”

She nodded in agreement, marveling at the fact that until today she had never even seen a naked man—much less three of them. But then she had no more time to ponder such matters as Jack padded forward on bare feet.

Her nipples stiffened to hard points, need throbbing inside her with a wrenching ache as he bent a knee upon the bed and came down beside her. He took her in his arms, making her tremble at the hot slide of his naked skin against hers.

“You’ll have to show me what to do,” she whispered, shy once more as she met his gaze.

“Don’t worry.” His lips brushed lightly across hers. “We’ll take everything as slowly as you need.”

Reassured, she curved her arms around his neck and gladly gave herself up to his kiss. He claimed her mouth in a languid joining that was as sultry as it was sublime, her nerve endings igniting like kindling set to a flame once again.

His hands resumed their earlier wandering, each caress heightening her passion, every stroke leaving her hungering for more. Something hard and insistent pressed against her stomach. With surprise, she realized it must be his erection.

Stroking a palm over his shoulder and back, she slid gradually downward, growing bold enough to roam as far as his waist. But she couldn’t muster the courage to go lower, her fingers flexing ineffectually against his hip.

“You can touch me if you like,” he said, breaking off their kiss to nuzzle the underside of her ear. His tongue darted out, lapping at a spot that sent quivers whizzing through her system like champagne bubbles gone out of control. “Touch me anywhere, Grace,” he encouraged in a husky tone. “Let those hands of yours run wild.”

Emboldened, she skimmed her fingers across his buttocks, feeling the muscles clench in response, then onward to the top of his thigh, finding it just a bit rough with hair. Then, before she had time to talk herself out of the impulse, she reached for his shaft and encircled him with her fingers.

A harsh groan issued from his throat.

She stiffened and began to withdraw, but he stopped her with a hand, forcing her fingers to stay where they were. “Stroke me,” he said. “Please.”

Trembling, she hesitated just a moment more, then did as he wished.

The feel of him was astonishing, hard and thick, yet covered with a skin as sleek and smooth as velvet. She glided up his length, then down, pausing at the last to brush a curious thumb across the tip. His shaft jumped in her palm, Jack releasing another throaty moan.

“Harder,” he said. “Stroke me harder.”

And she did, caressing him with increasing confidence while he massaged her breasts and took her mouth in a savage kiss. As she opened her lips wide, he slid his tongue inside, licking and lapping, then thrusting in and out in time to the movements of her hand.

He kissed her until she was dizzy, her grip gradually weakening on him as he drowned her in a tide of pleasure. Rolling her to her back, he used his knees to spread her legs apart and fit himself between. Crushing her lips to his, he moved her hand away, then positioned himself and thrust inside her body.

She tensed against the intrusion, his size stretching her to the point of pain. Her cry reverberated against his mouth, and he stopped, his chest rising and falling against hers as he rested on top of her.

“Give it a few moments. It’ll get easier,” he murmured.

Will it?
she wondered, rather doubting his words. He was large, her body gripping him like a too-tight glove.

Then he began to move again.

Her panic increased when she realized he was barely inside her, despite the agonizing sensation of fullness. She remained motionless, her pain intensifying as he forced himself deeper inside.

Finally, he was all the way in.

Only then did she sense the tension in him, his muscles quivering from the strain of holding himself back. A hand on the back of her thigh urged her to lift her legs and wrap them around his waist. She did, the shift in position lodging him even deeper. Yet oddly enough, her discomfort lessened, the pain receding as her body adjusted to his penetration.

How peculiar,
she thought, to have that part of him inside her. How incredibly close. Intimate in a way she had never truly imagined two people could be.

Slowly, he began to thrust, and her thoughts drifted away like tufts of dandelion fluff caught in a rough wind.

“Better?” he questioned in a gravelly voice.

Reaching up, she captured his mouth in a fervid kiss and gave him all the answer he needed.

In and out he went. In and out, over and over again until sparks of her earlier desire began to rekindle. He kissed her—long, wet, open-mouthed kisses that stole her breath, even as the vigorous movements of his hips turned her liquid and wanton with need.

She cried out, only this time not in pain, but in longing. Digging her heels into his buttocks, she urged him onward, clasping him to her with a sudden desperation she was helpless to resist.

Arching, she bounded upward to meet him, to take him as far and fast as her body would allow. Keening sounds came from her mouth, moans she barely recognized as her own as she gripped him harder. She remembered him saying something once about liking to ride, and suddenly she knew what he’d meant.

He was riding her—and it was sheer heaven.

Opening herself fully to him, she surrendered everything that she was, giving him her body and her mind. As for her heart, he possessed that already, love swelling within her as she clasped him tight and waited for all the pleasures yet to come.

She wasn’t prepared when the crisis claimed her not long after, ecstasy rippling through her bones and blood and flesh until all that remained was a sensation of pure, unadulterated bliss. She glowed—beyond rapture, beyond speech. Then, she was spinning once again, with Jack her only lifeline.

Barely coherent, she continued to float as he thrust inside her—pumping harder and deeper and faster. Abruptly he grew rigid, his body quaking violently as he claimed his release with an echoing groan of satisfaction.

For long moments, they lay locked in each other’s arms, neither seemingly capable of movement. With breath and sanity finally returning, he shifted, rolling onto his back before drawing her once more into his arms.

Snuggling against him, she let her eyes drift closed. “It’s still early yet, is it not?” she mumbled. “We never had our dinner.”

“Dinner will wait,” he said, soothing her with a hand. “For now, you should sleep.”

With her eyelids like leaden weights, she took his advice and let herself sink into oblivion.

G
race squinted against the light and raised a hand to shield her eyes as she burrowed deeper into the pillows.

“Oww,” she groaned, before grimacing in pain, even that slight amount of sound too much for her already aching head.

Lie still,
she warned herself in a silent whisper.
Don’t move and maybe the agony will go away.

But even thinking seemed to hurt, her head throbbing in violent beats between her ears.

“Here. Drink this,” said a quiet voice.

Drink what? Is that Jack speaking? What is Jack doing in my bedroom?

“Do you think you can sit up?” he asked.

No! Absolutely not.
Couldn’t he tell how miserable she was, unable to even lift her head off the pillow, much less sit up and drink something. Besides, she’d already drunk far too much last night. Her stomach lurched at the notion. The tom-toms in her head beat harder.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Here, let me help you.”

He set something down on the night table with a clink that reverberated as loudly as a blacksmith’s hammer striking an anvil. She held back a groan, knowing she dare not react for fear of jarring loose some vital organ—her brain, for instance. Before she could prevent him, Jack slipped an arm around her recumbent form and levered her upright.

“Aaagh!” she cried, gripping her head with both hands to keep it from rolling off her neck.

“Shh,” he crooned. “You’ll feel better once you get this in you.”

Squinting, she peered at the glass that had appeared again inside his hand. The concoction looked revolting, with a color somewhere between yellow and grey. “What is it?” she whispered.

“Hair of the dog.”

“Dog!” Fresh pain jarred the inside of her skull.

He laughed.

“Oooh, don’t.” She waved a hand to hush him.

“Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice again.

“None for me,” she whispered. “I’ll just lie down again.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” he admonished, holding her against him. “First, you have to drink.”

“Not if it has dog hair in it.” Her stomach did a somersault.

“It’s only an expression. Drink.”

“That’s what you said last night, and look where it’s gotten me.” The drums beat harder again.

“So now I’m here with the cure.”

“I don’t want—”

“The sooner you get it down, the sooner you’ll be better.”

Better? How can that disgusting concoction possibly make me feel better?
Though at the moment, she felt so dreadful she supposed anything would be an improvement.

Letting him press the cool glass into her hand, she gave the beverage another skeptical look. Losing her courage, she tried to pass it back. “I can’t.”

He pressed it toward her again. “Down fast. Drink and don’t think.”

“Did you make that up?”

“Friend of mine. Go on.”

Grimacing, she drew a steadying breath and took a swallow. “Ugh,” she said, breaking off on a near gag. “That’s vile.”

“All of it.”

“No.”

“Do it, Grace. Drink and don’t think.”

She sent him a nasty look. “I hate you.”

He smiled and stroked her hair. “Last night you said you loved me.”

And so she had, she realized, bits of the evening flashing in her mind. Pushing the memories aside for now, she raised the glass again.
Drink and don’t think.

She gulped the brew as quickly as possible, her stomach bucking and lurching with each and every swallow. When she was done, she shoved the glass at him and gasped for breath. “Oh, my God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Give it a minute.”

Leaning back against the mound of pillows he’d somehow found time to stack behind her when she wasn’t looking, she closed her eyes and prayed for death. Her stomach churned again, her head throbbing as if an orchestra were playing a symphony inside.

Jack left but quickly returned, his weight depressing the feather mattress as he sat down next to her.

Opening her eyes a sliver, she saw he had an empty porcelain washbasin in his lap. “Just in case,” he said.

Groaning once more, she turned her head away and waited to see how long it would be before she disgraced herself by being violently ill in front of him.

But one minute lapsed into two, then two more passed, as her stomach began to settle from a series of fearsome dips and flips into a gentle, gradually ebbing tide. The hammering receded in her brain as well, diminishing to a mildly uncomfortable pang. She relaxed with a sigh, a delicate belch escaping her lips before she could prevent it.

Flushing, she covered her mouth with her hand.

Jack chuckled and set the washbowl aside. “Better?”

Meeting his twinkling blue eyes, she nodded. “Yes, much better. Thank you.”

“Wonderful. Now we can proceed on to breakfast.”

“Breakfast!” She shook her head, a lingering twinge of pain shooting between her eyes. “No food, please.”

“But food is precisely what you need, especially since you didn’t eat dinner last night.”

Heat washed over her cheeks again. He was right. After tumbling into bed together, they never had managed to get out again, too busy slaking their mutual passion to even think about food. Her memories were slightly hazy, but she recalled Jack making love to her again after that first time, rousing her from a heavy sleep in order to satiate his needs and hers once more.

Now, it was morning and she had spent the night in his house. In his bed.
Oh my, I still am in his bed.

Clutching the sheet, she drew it higher, becoming excruciatingly aware that she was naked. She never slept naked. Then again, she’d never slept with a man before either.

“What time is it?” she ventured, half-afraid to hear the answer.

“A little after ten, I believe.” Crossing to a table set beneath one of the room’s many windows, he picked up a red-and-gold patterned Sevres coffeepot.

“Ten! Oh, good Lord. They’ll have missed me for sure. What if the servants have already sent word to Aunt Jane? What if she is even now cutting short her stay in Bristol and returning to the city?”

“Coffee?” he said, strolling toward her bearing a cup filled with the dark, steaming beverage.

“No, no coffee.” Ignoring any lingering malaise, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and scanned the room for her clothes. “I need to get home. I need to see who the servants have told, then figure out how I am going to explain.”

“What you need to do is get back in bed and sip some of this. Once it stays down, you can try a few bites of toast and eggs.” Without asking permission, he set the coffee onto the night table, then reached out to swing her legs back onto the mattress.

“But Jack, you know I can’t stay—”

“Of course you can. Relax, my sweet. I have already taken care of the matter.”

She froze. “What do you mean, ‘taken care’ of it?”

“I awakened earlier and penned a note to your aunt. I also sent a boy around to her house to inform her staff that you are quite unharmed and visiting a friend for the day.”

“B-but Jack, I—”

“Spent the night. A few hours more will make little difference now.” Resuming his seat on the side of the bed, he reached for the cup and saucer. “I thought coffee would do best this morning rather than tea. Careful you don’t burn yourself.”

With numb resignation, she accepted the offering. She even managed to take a sip without scalding her tongue. Feeling her stomach quiet, she sipped some more.

What had he told her aunt? she wondered. The truth, she suspected, as well as the fact that she was now his mistress. And considering the way she’d given herself to him last night, she couldn’t blame him for drawing that conclusion. Drunk or not, there was no pretending she hadn’t known what she was doing when she’d agreed to make love. She just hadn’t thought all the consequences through, or the enormity of the changes she would be facing in her life from this point forward.

She drank more coffee, glad he’d left it black, since it was more bracing that way. “I’m rather new to this, so will you be sending for my belongings today?”

“A change of clothes, you mean? I had one of the maids freshen your gown. It’s ironed and waiting for you over there on the wardrobe.”

And so it was, she noticed, her gaze shifting to the large walnut armoire on the far side of the room, where the lilac-sprigged muslin dress hung neatly on its half-open door.

“As for a hairbrush and such,” he continued, “I thought you could use mine.”

Use his brush?
Despite all the intimacies they’d shared in the past several hours, the notion of using his grooming implements seemed almost too personal somehow. Silly, considering she’d let him inside her body last night. What could be too intimate after that?

“Thank you, that is most kind,” she said. “But what of later?”

He arched a brow. “Later?”

“Well, yes. I am simply wondering what you expect.”

“In what regard?”

She stared at him for a long moment before lowering her gaze.
What is he about with this cat-and-mouse game? Should he not be the one informing me of his intentions, rather than the other way around?

Resisting the urge to blush and wishing she wasn’t quite so naked under the sheets, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Now that we are…well, closer than before, I suppose I wish to know where I shall be residing? Here in Bath or in some other establishment?”

Would he be procuring a separate town house for her, she wondered, as many gentlemen did with their light o’ loves?

“Are you planning to remove from Bath altogether?” she continued in a rush. “Or return to London perhaps and take a town house there?”

She hoped he didn’t say he wished to live permanently in London. Papa lived in London, and he would not be at all pleased by her descent into the realm of the demimonde. Although she supposed Papa would not be pleased wherever she decided to live, given her new status as Jack Byron’s
chere amie.

He gave her an inquiring look. “At the expense of appearing dull-witted, what exactly is it you are saying?”

Her brows gathered in an impatient scowl.
Surely he doesn’t expect me to spell it out
? But it would seem, she realized, that he did. “Since I’m your mistress now, where am I going to live? Is that plain enough for you?”

“My mistress!”

“Well, yes. After last night, I assumed…that is, I thought…” She broke off as she realized her error. “So I’m not to be your mistress?”

“No.”

The cup and saucer shook inside her hand at the implications.

Jack relieved her of her half-finished coffee before she could spill it, then set the china aside.

“Did it never occur to you that I might want something else?” he asked.

Her brows scrunched together again. Beyond words, she shook her head.

“Well, I do,” he stated. “I was planning to ask you later, since you aren’t feeling your best at present, and this is hardly the most romantic of settings. But I suppose it will have to do.”

She stared at him, puzzled.

“Then again,” he said, pausing to run his gaze slowly over her, his eyes heating along the way, “maybe this
is
the perfect time and place. What could be better, after all, than having you alone and naked in my bed?”

Now she was the one who could be accused of being dim-witted. What was he saying? What did he mean? She was pondering the alternatives—and truly could conceive of none—when he took her hand in his own.

“Grace Lilah Danvers,” he said in a solemn tone. “Will you marry me?”

Her mouth dropped open.

Quiet descended over the room.

“Well,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, “this isn’t quite the reaction I hoped for. Either you’re so happy you’ve been stunned into silence, or else you’re trying desperately to think of a good way to refuse.”

“But you can’t marry me,” she blurted.

“Can I not? Why, pray tell?”

“For one thing, because your brother is a
duke!”

“Quite true, although I believe you are the only woman in England who would consider that a drawback.”

“Be that as it may, you are an aristocrat and I am not. By that measure alone, I am entirely beneath you.”

A sensuous smile turned up the edges of his mouth. “I must admit,” he drawled, “that I did enjoy having you
beneath me
last night. Why don’t you scoot down and we can try it again.”

Ignoring him, she pressed on. “And, of course, there is your family. What will they think of you marrying a girl whose station in life is so decidedly below your own?”

One of his dark brows arched upward. “I had no idea, my dear, that you were such a snob.”

She flushed. “I am not a
snob,
I am a
realist,
and I know all about such things.”

“Do you?” he challenged softly. “And where did you learn such lessons? At school, with mean-spirited girls who thought themselves better than you simply by virtue of their birth?”

She swallowed, memories of those years rising in her head. “Yes. And the teachers and parents as well. I may have been sent to a ladies academy, but I was reminded each day that I was nothing of the sort.”

“Then they were fools, the lot of them. I assure you, in all the ways that count, you are every inch a lady. In intellect and speech, manner and style, there is no one superior to you.”

“Jack—”

“And for the record, my family will adore you. Despite Ned being a proper toff, we Byrons aren’t snobs.”

“Ned?” she ventured.

“My brother Edward, the duke. He’ll love you too as his newest sister.”

She studied him, unable to believe he was saying all these things. Doing his utmost to convince her to be his bride.

“So?” he asked. “Any other objections?”