Suzanne Robinson (20 page)

For once she didn’t fight, and because she allowed herself to enjoy the experience, her mouth began to feel like a hot whirlpool. When he sucked at her lips and tongue, she answered with her own forays. So concerned with his mouth was she that his slow movements didn’t disturb her, not even when he stood with her in his arms. Still kissing her, he walked to the sitting area, where a long couch provided a resting place.

Instead of putting her down, however, he stood beside it, kissing her. She didn’t mind, for he crushed her to him and devoured her mouth. Her hands began to roam over his shoulders then.

As if spurred on by their movements, Jocelin
began to kiss his way down her neck to the edge of her evening gown, just above her breasts. The feel of his mouth on her breasts made her gasp, which caused him to graze his teeth across her flesh.

Suddenly she was on the couch, and his hand was on her ankle again. It remained there, the fingers trailing over hollows and curves while he returned to her mouth. Her leg was bent, and she felt his fingers tracing the length of her calf. He whispered something to her, but she was more interested in how the presence of his hand made her tingle at her breasts and between her thighs.

Almighty in heaven, she couldn’t bear it if he stopped. While she worried that he would stop, his lips nuzzled her breast, then fastened on it as his fingers brushed the inside of her thigh. Now she burned, and something tightened inside her, like a wet cloth being put through a wash wringer. As he approached the juncture between her thighs, the tightness grew and grew until she wanted to scream. When he touched her there, she sucked in her breath, but he immediately kissed her. With each caress, the tightness increased, and her hips began to move.

Jocelin made a delighted sound and whispered, “More, Liza, please.”

Confused, she hardly listened. The tightness was going to drive her mad, so she moved against him. As her hips flexed, he smiled and nuzzled her ear, whispering encouragement. By now Liza didn’t care if he was pleased or not. His hand twitched, and she cried out. He put his free hand over her mouth as she tried to twist from him. He kept touching her, and she exploded.

As she cried out into his hand, he moved, lifted over her. Vaguely, through her frenzy, she felt something
long and hot between her legs. He prodded at her, and something elemental made her open. He slid inside her. She cried out as he lodged deeply and then remained still for a few moments.

Convulsions racked her again as he began to move. He rocked gently at first, but she clawed at his back and buttocks. A gentle pain traveled up inside her as he moved, but it paled beside the pleasure of having him so close. Liza slipped her arms inside his shirt and raked his back. She felt the muscles over his ribs work as he pumped gently inside her.

All at once he began to thrust quickly. Her eyes flew open as pain faded, swamped by that tightness. She cried out, then sank her teeth into his neck as the tightness burst again. He shoved back and forth in his own wildness, then, as she gasped for breath, cried out his pleasure with his face buried in her breast.

Liza felt him collapse on top of her. He was huge inside of her, and his convulsions snaked along her. She lay still, intent on feeling the whole of him and every quiver and twitch. She ran her hands down inside his clothing until they fastened on his buttocks. Digging her fingers into his flesh, she satisfied her long-held urge to explore him. When she raked her fingernails over his skin, his buttocks twitched, and she chuckled. At the sound, he lifted his head and looked at her.

“Oh, Liza …”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Liza, Liza, Liza.” He gazed into her eyes through a wild tangle of locks. “Liza, do you know what opium is?”

She nodded.

“No, you don’t,” he whispered. “It’s you, Liza.” He put his forehead to hers. “Oh, God, Liza. I’ve
never been with an innocent before. Have I hurt you?”

He lifted his head and gave her a fearful look. His apprehension endeared him to her as nothing else he’d done this night. Liza smiled at him.

“No. Can we do this again?”

Blinking, he studied her. “Again?”

“Of course, my lord. Again and again.”

“But you’re supposed to be upset.”

“I know, but you’re so, so good at this. I’ll be upset later. Now I want to know if you will do this with me again.” She eyed him warily. “Don’t you want to?”

He raised his eyes skyward. “Thank you, Heavenly Father.” He kissed her. “And thank you, my sweet Liza.”

When he pulled free of her and sat up, Liza sat up as well. Somehow her gown had come loose. It was falling about her hips. As she moved, she felt warm stickiness between her legs, but she was too distressed to worry about it.

“You don’t want to,” she said, her shoulders slumping.

Suddenly she was picked up and set on Jocelin’s lap. He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

“Silly midge, how can you ask such a question? But you can’t, not tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Do you understand why?”

He had ducked his head so that she had to look at him.

“I hadn’t thought that it might be uncomfortable to be with you again,” she said.

When he smiled at her, that new tightness started again, and she kissed him. At first he was still beneath her lips, then when she touched them with
her tongue, he moaned and attacked her mouth with his. She twisted her fingers in his hair, shoved him against her mouth, and drove inside it with her tongue. He cried out and tore his lips free. Panting, he held her off.

“No!” He captured her hands. “If you continue, I won’t be able to stop, and then you’ll be hurt. Don’t make me, Liza.”

“Then promise we’ll be together again, please. In the morning.”

“But that might be too soon.”

He didn’t understand, and she couldn’t tell him. That tightness was back, and growing, because of the low grating of his voice, because of the bunching of his thigh muscles under her hand. She couldn’t survive this frustration he’d created.

“My lord, tomorrow morning, or now.”

He stared at her. “You mean it.”

She didn’t reply, and he grinned at her. “I am at your command, Miss Elliot. Can you arrange to go poor-visiting?”

“I’ll visit graveyards if it will bring you to me.”

“The inn at Willingham would be more comfortable.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

He laughed and turned her to face away from him so that he could fasten her gown. “You’re most unusual.”

“I know. I’ve been different all my life.”

“How?”

She had said too much, and couldn’t explain without revealing too much about herself. He was supposed to believe her a spinster.

“Well, I’m a spinster, of course.”

He finished her gown and offered her gloves. “For no good reason that I can see.”

Liza wrung her gloves and looked away from him. “I—I was unwilling to marry knowing that my husband would have been purchased. After my first season, I well …” She cleared her throat. “You see, I wanted to know the truth, so at one of my first balls I made the acquaintance of several gentlemen who had no knowledge of my income.”

She swallowed, her speech dammed up behind a wall of hurt. No need to reveal so much to this man, who had never been within her reach at all.

“You were ignored,” he finished for her.

Staring at her gloves, she nodded.

“I’m glad,” he said, “for you don’t deserve to be hawked about like strawberry tarts at a fair.”

Surprised, she glanced up at him to find his brow furrowed.

“You’re angry,” she said.

“At them, at fellows who have the sensitivity of lard.”

She smiled at him, “I like you, my lord.”

“You do?”

“Why do you sound as if you don’t believe me.” It was his turn to look away. “My experience has been that women come to me for something other than friendship.”

She put her hand on his cheek and brushed her thumb across his lips. “They would.”

His voice was so low, she could barely hear it. “And I’m tired of it, by God.”

She took his hand in both of hers. “Then—” Her voice cracked with nervousness. “Then perhaps we can be friends, since we have so few people we can
trust. I mean, aren’t you weary of wondering if the lady you’re with wants your title?”

“Friends? With a woman?”

Straightening her back, she put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. “It is possible, you know.”

“Not if I can’t have you,” he snapped. “Not if being your friend means I can’t have you.”

“Why would it mean that?”

He let out a long breath. “You frightened me.” He kissed her hand. “I’ve never had a woman as a friend. You’re a rare little thing, Liza Elliot. And by the way, you have to stop calling me ‘my lord’ when we’re alone.”

“I’ll try, but you don’t know how very much a lord you are, my lord.”

“Shall I take you to your room?” he asked as he helped her stand.

She glanced at his open shirt. If she touched his bare flesh, she would feel that maddening arousal again, and if he stayed with her much longer, she would touch that bare flesh. Her gaze fixed on the muscle over his breast, and her skin grew hot.

“My lord,” she said on a tense note. “My lord, I don’t think it would be wise for you to do that. In fact, you had better not stay here much longer if you don’t want to find yourself on the floor again.”

She blushed at her own frankness. When he gave her the smile of an innocently pleased cherub, her embarrassment vanished.

“You’re a delight,” he said.

She returned his smile, and he kissed her lightly before disappearing behind a wall of ferns. She heard his whisper as he left.

“I’m not going to sleep, my love, and it’s your fault.”

Grinning foolishly, she tiptoed all the way back to her room. There she washed at the porcelain basin and donned her nightgown. She stuffed her soiled clothes in a little-used trunk. Emmeline would take care of them discreetly.

She climbed into bed and lay with the covers clutched under her chin. That tightness had faded. Jocelin Marshall was gone, and her conscience was beginning to snipe at her. She had committed a sin. At the time, she hadn’t cared, but now she was beginning to realize the magnitude of her actions. She had fornicated with a man. Good Christian women didn’t do that. But then, she’d found out a long time ago, she wasn’t a good Christian woman.

Sin. Mama and Papa would be ashamed of her if they knew what she’d done. But they’d been ashamed of her most of her life. She should give up Jocelin Marshall so that her parents and Society wouldn’t disapprove of her. Liza gave an unhappy laugh. Giving him up wouldn’t make anyone approve of her.

Why should she stop? She knew better than to think she would ever have another chance to love a man as beautiful and fascinating as Jocelin. His compassion and sensuality wrapped her in thrall.

No doubt he would pass through her life like quicksilver, and vanish. If she didn’t have him now, she never would. This knowledge had spurred her on when she knew he was going to make love to her. No, a woman like herself, one of unexceptional appearance and unacceptable principles, a woman such as herself must snatch what small morsels and bits of love came her way.

She had gone to the conservatory determined to foil the viscount’s plans for seduction. And then he’d mentioned Gamp. No man had ever been unable to
forget her. The ones she’d met during her season had had no trouble forgetting her at all. Except for the ones who had made fun of her for her championing the cause of women’s education and property rights. No doubt Jocelin would disapprove of her beliefs as well.

She wouldn’t tell him. For no matter how much she longed for someone who would accept her, unwomanly principles and all, she knew she would never find someone like that. To her shame, she found that she craved Jocelin so much, she was willing to conceal her true beliefs, or at least not mention them. After all, they had so little time, no more than a few weeks.

Liza snuggled deeper under the covers. After that humiliating season in London she had made up her mind to forget marriage and the hope of someone’s ever falling in love with her. Her greatest fear had been confirmed. She was too different, unable to be like other women, and thus no man had wanted her. Therefore, to save herself from shame and from pain, she had decided to forget marriage and love. She told herself not to think about them, and had succeeded so well that thoughts of men rarely troubled her—until Jocelin.

Jocelin she couldn’t put out of her thoughts. He wouldn’t let her. His pursuit had been so unexpected, so inconceivable, that he had slipped under her guard. Never had she imagined that a man so bewitching would want her. The very unexpectedness of such an occurrence had made her vulnerable.

Yet desperate as she was to have him, she wouldn’t lie to herself. He might want her for a time, but not for long. And if she revealed her true self to him, his desire would vanish beneath a shower of distaste.

She would take what she could, grab her chance to be with him for the moment. He would tire of her, no doubt quickly, for she was no match for the women who pursued him. She could think of at least three Society beauties who were known to desire him, with or without marriage. Perhaps he’d already granted them favors. After all, he was generous.

No, she would seem a coot among swans when compared to them. Therefore she would watch closely and be ready. When he wanted to leave, she would be prepared. She would suggest they part first, so that the pain would be less for the lack of shame. If she let him go with grace and apparent equanimity, at least she would be spared shame.

He would never know the cost, never suspect that she longed for more. She would return to her old life. After all, she had a murderer to find. She couldn’t fall in love and chase after Jocelin Marshall. How disgusted he would be if he knew her dreams of having him forever. She couldn’t bear it if he looked at her with revulsion. To prevent that, she would give him only what he would accept, and never, never burden him with the knowledge of her longing and her love.