The Accidental Mistress (25 page)

Unlike their first time together, there was no pain, no difficulty with his entrance, although his large shaft filled her completely. At his urging, she lifted her legs and linked them at his back, the angle allowing him to thrust deeper still.

Setting a rhythm that stole her breath, he pumped hard and fast, bracing his arms on either side of her head so he could kiss her again as he took her with him into a world where nothing existed but the stunning pleasure of his possession. She wondered if her heart might explode—the need so great, the delight so profound.

And then she was cresting again, a roaring rush sounding between her ears as if she were drowning, while an explosion of joy sent her flying skyward.

He captured her scream of release inside his mouth, muffling his own shout of completion against her lips moments later.

Panting, he collapsed briefly upon her, burying his face against the curve of her throat. Slowly, he removed his weight, levering himself up and away.

She lay with her eyes closed, too weary and replete to move, strangely afraid to look at him for fear of what she might see. But she discovered a few moments later that she need not have worried.

"Lily," he murmured. "I'm not letting you go again so do not even think of trying to get away. You don't wish to marry and that is fine, but I will not be kept from your bed again."

She peeked at him through half-raised lashes. "You are not in my bed."

"No, we used your desk, and that should show you quite a lot. Come, let me help you up before you grow impossibly stiff."

Glancing down, her eyes widened. "It would seem you are the one with that problem. How is that possible so soon?"

He shot her a smoldering look. "I've been without you for weeks. Long, impossible days that have left me with a powerful desire."

"There have been no others?"

"No. And there will not be, not until this passion between us subsides."

What if it never does?
she worried.

A moment later, she decided to brush aside the question as well as the concern.

Enjoy the now,
she thought,
and do not trouble about the future. There will be plenty of time later to face reality and all its sobering details.

Gazing into the depths of his beautiful whisky-colored eyes, she smiled and accepted his hand.

Leaning back against a conveniently placed pillar, Ethan watched Lily glide around the ballroom floor in the arms of another man. Ordinarily he would have objected to the sight, but he kept his more primitive instincts at bay, reassured by the knowledge that he would be the one escorting her home, the one spending the night in her bed.

Three days had passed since he and Lily had made wild, impetuous love atop the desk in her study—an act that would forever change the way he viewed that particular piece of furniture, and desks in general.

On that first day, after she had finally agreed to become his lover, she'd led him to her bedchamber, confessing along the way that she had fibbed about having an afternoon commitment. Backing her against a wall, he'd pressed a torrid kiss to her mouth that left both of them gasping for air. Giving her his wickedest grin, he'd promised to keep her well occupied for the next several hours.

He had not disappointed.

Locking themselves inside her room, they'd stripped to the skin, then spent the rest of the day slaking their seemingly unquenchable passion for one another. More than once, just when he'd thought she'd finally wrung him dry, his hunger would reawaken like a ravenous tiger demanding to be fed. With great relish on both their parts, they'd done their best to appease the beast.

A few minutes before six o'clock that evening, he'd reluctantly pulled himself away from Lily. Tucking the covers around her, he'd dressed, leaving her in an exhausted sleep, a little smile curving her rosy mouth.

He'd sported a smile of his own, one that refused to be controlled, not even when he'd arrived at the Pendragon mews in order to collect his carriage. To his relief, Rafe and Julianna's servants were discreet, in no way indicating they found anything amiss in his more than six-hour absence.

Despite the na�vet� of imagining he and Lily could hide their affair, he'd decided it would be best to at least make the attempt—thus his decision to go home instead of spending the night in her bed, as he would have preferred.

His good intentions didn't even last twenty-four hours, though, his aching member awakening him from a shallow sleep a little after one o'clock the next morning. Lying in the darkness, he'd fought his desire, telling himself to go back to sleep. But rest was impossible. In spite of the insanity of the act, he dressed, then left Andarton House to hail a hackney cab for the drive to her townhouse.

A night watchman called three o'clock just as he arrived on Lily's doorstep. Rather than waking her servants, he walked around the side and vaulted over the brick wall surrounding her small garden. Using a rather handy set of tools he had acquired years before from Rafe, he picked open the lock of her rear hallway door. Stealing silently up the stairs, he made a mental note to have new locks installed in her house and to obtain a key. Then he was inside her room, every thought but his need for Lily vanishing from his mind.

Removing his clothes, he eased into bed next to her. Sensing her awakening, he clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her scream, placing his lips to her ear.

"It is I," he whispered. "Do not be afraid." When he felt her relax a moment later, he removed his hand.

"Good God, Ethan," she said, "you nearly scared me to death."

"My apologies."

"What are you doing here? What time is it?"

"Early. And I'm here because I could not sleep. I want you again."

She made a little sound that reminded him of a purr. "Heavens. How did you get in the house, anyway?"

"I'll tell you later."

Tired of talking, he slid his hands under the sheets and found her clothed in a nightgown. Impatiently, he pulled off the garment. "You might as well stop bothering with these for the next while. You'll only get tired of me taking them off you."

On a contented sigh, she threaded her fingers into his hair. "Will I?"

"Yes," he promised, covering her body with his.

"Good."

Seconds later, nothing else mattered but the divine beauty of Lily's touch and the potent blessing of her kiss.

Even now as he watched her dance, he could remember the sensation of her little hands on his skin, the burgeoning skill of her still untutored caresses. She was proving to be a quick learner, and he had a lot he wanted to teach her. But first he had to get through the next three hours; then, discretion be damned, he would be taking her home.

Besides, they needed to be up early tomorrow so he could escort her to a sale where he planned to find her an excellent team of horses. Afterward, they would shop for a carriage.

He smiled, looking forward to the outing.

His smile lingered, remembering their conversation last night when she'd informed him she wanted a phaeton painted the cerulean blue of a perfect June sky.

"A curricle, you mean," he said.

"No, a phaeton. A beautiful bright-blue phaeton."

He'd laughed, deciding to tease her a little over choosing such a purely feminine shade. "That would be unique. I'm not even sure carriage paint comes in that color. You'll probably have to settle for a darker hue, such as navy."

Her nose wrinkled. "I do not care for navy, not for myself, anyway."

"Or black. Now that's a color you'll have no difficulty finding."

"Ugh, no black. It's cerulean I want. Surely the carriage-maker can procure the proper colors to mix such a shade?"

"Well, we shall have to see. I am not certain it will be possible."

Framing his face with her palms, she gave him a sweet, lingering kiss. "It will be," she whispered. "We shall find a way."

In that moment, gazing down into her eager face, he'd vowed she would have her sky-blue carriage, even if he had to hire a landscape artist to do the painting.

Now, in the ballroom, the dancing ended, the music falling silent as the gathered couples made their way from the floor. As she crossed on the arm of her partner, Lily's eyes darted toward Ethan, gliding over him with a shy yet lingering caress.

An eruption of heat burned low in his belly, desire striking hard and fast. He stared for another long moment, then broke eye contact, his hands turning to fists at his side as he fought to compose himself.

Damnation,
he cursed,
this is going to be a very long evening.

He fixed his gaze upon her again, where she was now standing in conversation with her friend Davina Coates.

On the other hand, the evening doesn't necessarily have to be long.

Striding out of the ballroom, he located a pen and paper, then dashed off a note. Finding a footman, Ethan passed him the folded missive, along with a coin to ensure prompt delivery. He waited only a moment more, then turned and made his way outside.

* * * * *

Half an hour later, Lily glided down the front steps of the townhouse and crossed to the closed coach waiting not far away. A footman opened the door and assisted her inside.

From out of the waiting darkness emerged a hand, reaching out to enfold her own. The door closed just as she was tugged forward, the vehicle springing into motion as she tumbled onto a pair of powerful, masculine thighs.

The evocative scent and sensation of the man on whose lap she sat reassured her even as being in his arms increased the speed of her racing heartbeat.

"Ethan," she murmured. "What do you think you're doing?"

Without preamble, he gathered the skirt of her lilac silk evening gown in his hands. Sliding the material upward, he stroked the bare flesh of her legs in a tantalizing caress.

"What does it feel like I am doing?" Bending forward, he placed his lips against her neck and nuzzled her with a skill that made her arch in instinctive delight. "I am making love to you."

"Is that why you sent that note? I thought perhaps something was wrong."

Leaning back, his gaze locked with hers. "Something
is
wrong. I have need of you."

"Carnal need, you mean. But surely we can wait. The party will be over soon."

"Not soon enough. I want you now," he said on a near growl.

"Are you going to turn autocratic on me?"

"About this, yes. You are my mistress and I will have you. Wherever and whenever the both of us please."

Claiming her mouth, he swept her into a realm of passion and possession, his kiss demanding her surrender as well as her unbounded response. Not for an instant did she think to resist, his every touch perfection, his embrace branding her with a sizzling passion that made her melt and moan. Only when she lay trembling against him, breath soughing from her lips in little gasping pants, did he ease away.

But not for long. His broad palms slipped higher on her skin so that her gown bunched around her waist. Shifting her, he positioned her astride his lap, her legs settling naturally on either side of his hips, her stockingclad knees pressing into the plush, velvet-covered seat.

Reaching between them, he opened the falls of his black silk evening breeches. His flesh sprang free, thick and more than ready.

"But we're in your coach," she whispered, half-scandalized, half-excited.

"We were here once before, if you will recall, but we were interrupted that time. I've been waiting for a second chance ever since."

"But surely we can't—"

His teeth flashed in the dark. "Of course we can. My driver will circle the park until I tell him otherwise. Hold on, love, I promise you'll enjoy the ride."

Spreading his thighs apart, he widened her in a way that left her fully exposed to him. Wet heat coiled low within her, a quiver tingling through her extremities. She barely had time to react to the sensations before he grasped her hips, raised her upward, and brought her down onto his straining shaft.

She cried out, his length seeming to fill her even more than usual, if that was possible. Holding on, she met his vigorous thrusts with ones of her own, the sway and bump of the coach heightening every stroke.

Needing his kiss, she tunneled her fingers in his hair and captured his lips in a torrid, tumultuous joining. He groaned and plunged higher and harder, burying himself even deeper inside her as he increased the pace of his thrusts.

Teetering on the edge, she knew she needed only the slightest push to topple her over into oblivion. A moment later, the coach hit a rut, the shock bouncing both of them up, then down hard on the seat.

The motion drove him deeper still, the joyous friction shooting a climax through her that literally stole her breath. Pressing her face against his neck, she let herself shake, joy pumping like a drug in her veins, ecstasy leaving her floating as if buoyed atop a cloud.

Sliding his strong arms across her back, Ethan arched her slightly away and quickened his rhythm, plunging harder, deeper, faster. Then he was shaking too, his release long and satisfying for them both.

Collapsing against the seat, he cradled her in his embrace, stroking her back as he trailed his lips across the hot, flushed skin of her cheek. Long minutes elapsed before he lifted her up so she curled against him on the seat, his arm cradling her to his hip.

"If you want," he murmured, "there's probably still an hour of the party left. I could take you back."

"In this wrinkled gown? If I did return, I fear everyone would know what we've just been doing." Leaning up, she kissed him. "Let us go home to bed, Ethan. It's the only place I want to be."

* * * * *

"Ooh, he's a pretty boy," Lily declared the following morning as she and Ethan strolled the stable yard at an estate not far from London. The former owner had recently passed away and his son—a lord known more for his love of gaming than of horses—was auctioning off the animals to the highest bidder.

Ethan sent her an indulgent glance. "That gelding may be 'pretty,' but I suspect he will not be well-suited as a carriage horse. I am given to understand there are a few teams available, including a pair of matched grays."