The Bed and the Bachelor (14 page)

She shuddered, her eyelids fluttering downward on a pleasured slide.

Yes, why?
she puzzled, her mind growing misty again. It was as though she were the one who’d been drugged tonight, she thought, fighting to shake off the strange pliancy creeping through her limbs.

Remember,
she ordered herself.

Remember what?

Without warning, he rolled her to her back, stringing kisses along her throat and collarbone as he lay above her. In that moment, the key swung around his neck, glinting briefly in the low amber glow of the candlelight.

Sebastianne stared at the metal.

The key. Of course, the key.

She had to get out of his bed, out of his room, immediately! But how, with Lord Drake so clearly determined to keep her in it? What she needed, she decided, was a diversion.

Reaching up, she stroked a palm across his cheek and drew his attention. “W-why don’t you give me a minute to freshen up?” she suggested in a purring tone. “I promise I’ll be right back.”

The hand gliding upward along her bare thigh stopped, his forehead wrinkling over her statement. “Freshen up?”

“Yes, to splash a bit of water, you know. I’ll just slip out, then slip back. You’ll hardly know I’ve been away.”

And once she was away and safely inside her room again, he would with any luck have grown tired enough in his waiting to forget about her and fall back to sleep.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, moving as if to climb out of the bed.

“No!” she said, curving a hand around one of his bare upper arms. “You stay right here. I’ll return in mere moments.”

He studied her with glazed green eyes for several long seconds, then leaned away to let her slip off the bed. Puffing out a quiet breath of relief, she made good her escape.

Hands trembling, she lifted the candle she’d earlier set on his night table, then walked on alarmingly unsteady feet across the large room to the door of his bathing chamber.

He was watching her as she paused with her fingers on the knob, making her aware that she had no choice except to enter. But that wouldn’t be a problem, she knew, since the room had two doors, the second one that led out into his dressing room. She would go in one door, then out through the other and disappear through his sitting room on the far side.

Inside the bathing chamber, she found herself far too distracted to truly admire the modern chamber, with its clean white tiles, shining brass fixtures and huge porcelain bathtub. After locking the door behind her, she crossed to the sink and picked up the yellow-and-white Sèvres pitcher, already filled with water. Pouring a cool, wet inch into the basin, she splashed for a few seconds so that it would sound as though she really were washing up.

Once finished, she decided that she ought to dispose of the evidence since she didn’t want to leave clues that might lead Lord Drake to wonder if her presence in his bedroom had been more than a dream. Draining the water into the bathtub, she returned the basin to the precise spot where it had been, then carefully dried her hands on a nearby towel so no marks would show. Then, convinced she’d waited long enough, she padded on hushed feet toward the dressing-room door.

A strangled gasp rose in her throat at the sight of the tall shadow waiting on the other side. With her heart beating in painful strokes, she pressed a fist to her chest, while the flame from the candle she held wavered in a crazy dance.

“All freshened up?” Lord Drake asked. He swayed slightly where he stood, one hand braced against the wall. Even in the low light it was plain that he was naked—the rest of his body every inch as magnificent as his chest.

She couldn’t help but look, her gaze roving over his narrow hips, long thighs corded with muscle, and the powerful erection rising up between them. Her mouth grew moist at the sight, even as her throat grew dry.

“What are you doing out of bed?” she said on a high-pitched squeak.

For that matter,
how
was he out of bed, considering the sleeping draught she’d given him? Now she wished she’d used the entire dose in his wine rather than dividing it in half. Obviously, he had the constitution of an ox.
Or a bull,
she thought, unable to keep from glancing again at his substantial arousal.

“The other door was locked, so I came around here,” he said in answer to her question, his tone implying a kind of irrefutable logic. “So, are you ready?”

Ready?

She swallowed convulsively, her traitorous body throbbing in her most secret places. “M-my lord, I think perhaps we—”

“—should go back to bed,” he finished. Pushing himself away from the wall, he moved close, his hands reaching for her gown. “But first, let’s get you out of these.”

“I-I think I should keep them on.” She took two steps back, eluding him.

But he followed. “I don’t. I want to see you, and this is my dream, after all.”

Dream?
Did he still believe he was asleep and this interlude between them was nothing more than a fantasy? Mayhap she could still find a way out of her predicament, she mused, if she managed things right. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she wondered once again exactly how to do that.

Then he took the candle out of her hand and set it aside, the low light flickering around them in a way that cast seductive shadows against the walls. Reaching for her again, he grasped the tie at the waist of her robe and pulled it loose.

“My lord,” she said, trying to forestall him as he pushed the robe from her shoulders.

“Drake,” he told her, edging her slowly backward. “You always call me by my name in my dreams.”

“Dr-Drake, then. I still need a bit of time. Why don’t you return to bed, and I’ll follow.”

He shook his head. “But you’ll slip away.”

He was right. She would.

Without warning, she bumped into a smooth panel of wood that rose upward behind her. The door—the one she’d locked when she’d first entered the room. Reaching back, she fumbled for the key, trying to turn it and reopen the door.

As she struggled to work the mechanism, Lord Drake stepped closer. Her pulse leapt wildly in her chest at having him so near.

So naked.

But instead of trying to unfasten the buttons on her thin cotton nightgown as she expected, he laid both of his wide, capable palms over her breasts and cupped them with a bold, knowing possession. Squeezing her flesh with the lightest of touches, he began caressing her with his thumbs.

And mercy on high,
did he caress her, her nipples beading into tight, aching peaks that made her spine arch of its own accord. Her fingers stilled against the key, wrists growing lax as he began using slow, circling touches in a way that literally made her whole body throb. Her eyelids slid closed, a sigh of pure bliss whispering from her lips.

Before she had time to collect herself and her wayward thoughts, he was kissing her, taking her mouth with a heady intensity that undid her even more. His tongue slipped inside to play with her own, giving her the kind of openmouthed kiss good women were warned was sinful.

But how could anything so wonderful be a sin? And why did she no longer seem to care what might pass between them tonight?

Behind her, the key dropped to the floor.

She barely heard its metallic ping, pressing herself against Drake as she threaded her fingers into the thick chestnut silk of his hair. A whisper of air brushed against her body as he unfastened the buttons on her nightgown, the thin plackets parting as they hung open to her waist. Then his hands slipped inside to stroke her, flesh to heated flesh.

How much time passed, she had no idea, her judgment lost beneath a tide of desire. He surprised her again though when he broke their kiss and leaned fractionally away. Weaving ever so slightly, he gazed into her eyes. “Come,” he said, his words as much a request as a command.

She swayed a little herself, breathless and unsteady, her senses spiraling madly around her.

Come? Come where?

But where else could he mean but to his bed?

He waited, clearly wanting her consent when another man would only have demanded.

This was her chance, she realized, her opportunity to refuse and flee from him at last.

She looked again at his open hand, his wide, waiting palm.

Without giving herself another instant to think, she laid her own hand within.

Chapter 13

T
he room spun around Drake as he and Anne Greenway sank together onto the feathery softness of his bed.

In the near darkness, he’d stripped her of her clothes, the curiously sensible cotton garments falling in a soft heap onto the carpeted floor. Odd, he’d thought fleetingly, considering she’d always been clothed in something filmy and flimsy in his other dreams—some thin scrap of material that fell away at his slightest touch.

But this was like no dream he’d ever had. There was a strangely realistic quality to it that left him puzzled, as if something wasn’t quite right. One minute, everything seemed to be swimming hazily around him, dreamlike and muddled, while in the next, events seemed as clear as daylight, as though the experiences he was having were actually happening.

Were they?

Or were they not?

He honestly wasn’t sure. If he hadn’t known better, he would think he was drunk. But that made no sense since he rarely overindulged when it came to spirits. Besides, he was sure he’d been soundly asleep when he’d found her bending over him in his bed. And why in heaven’s name would Anne Greenway, his housekeeper, be in his bedroom, leaning over him while he lay naked and sleeping, unless it really was a dream?

Has to be a fantasy,
he told himself, as he slid his hands over the rich silk of her skin and hair. But then again the sensations were so vivid and compellingly real. He could even smell her, each new breath filling his head with the delicate fragrance of rain-washed violets and the intoxicating spice of sultry feminine heat.

Dream or reality, he really didn’t care at the moment. The only thing that mattered was the fact that Anne—beautiful, desirable, forbidden Anne—was lying in his arms, her body warm, naked and wanting, exactly like his own.

Taking her lips, he kissed her with a dark urgency, craving her the same way he did life’s most vital necessities. But neither food, nor air, nor water could compare to the simple beauty of her slightest touch, the quiet majesty of her body entwined with his own.

In faith, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d hungered for a woman so strongly—or if he ever had at all. The intensity of his passion left him ravenous, his body shaking with the need to join himself to her, to lodge his flesh so deep and true it really would seem as if they were one.

With that goal in mind, he pleasured her with his lips and hands, her answering moan a symphony to his ears. Her hands moved over him as well, small feminine palms that made him ache and arch, his muscles tightening with a savage need that made him shudder.

Dappling kisses along her throat, he roved lower, exploring each new span of flesh as though it were a territory he was set on conquering. Cupping one round, supple breast in his hand, he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm beneath him. Her legs moved restlessly against the sheets, her short fingernails raking lightly over his back.

In that moment, he knew he had to taste her. Bending, he drew the tautened nub into his mouth, laving it with his tongue the way he would an especially delicious morsel of candy.

How sweet she is
, he thought,
better than sugared fruits and summer rose petals.

She whimpered and thrust her fingers into his hair, as she had done earlier, clearly determined to hold him in place. Only too happy to oblige, he suckled eagerly, closing his eyes as he drew upon her with increasing ardor.

He gasped a few moments later when she began playing her fingers in and along the dip at the base of his spine. His shaft hardened more, if that was possible, blood draining out of his head to pulse in thick, violent beats. Unconsciously, he thrust against her hip, then raked her plump breast with the edges of his teeth.

A throaty cry soughed from her lips, her fingers clenching briefly in his hair while the other hand wandered in random paths up and down his body.

With a shiver, he skimmed his mouth lower, scattering kisses over her belly and hips and thighs. When he reached the triangle of soft curls between her legs, he paused, trying to decide whether he wanted to touch her or taste her—or both.

But this was his dream, after all, and he could do as he liked. And what he liked was her—everything about her.

Without further consideration, he parted her thighs with his hands, feeling her legs tremble beneath his grasp.

And then he lowered his head.

S
ebastianne’s eyes popped wide, a strangled gasp sticking in her throat.

Mince alors, what is he doing? Surely he isn’t kissing me where I think he’s kissing me!

But from the slick, wet glide of sensation in her most intimate of parts, she was forced to accept the fact that he was.

Instinctively, she wanted to push him away, then curl in on herself and hide with shame. Yet even as she gathered herself to refuse him, her body had other ideas, arching toward him rather than away, wanting more rather than less.

Ah, Dieu,
she thought, as her quavering fingers twisted helplessly into the sheets. Never had she known such exquisite pleasure, such mindless delight. It was as though he’d found the very heart of her and was making it come alive from the inside out. Making
her
come alive from the inside out.

In rapid pants, shallow breaths rasped from between her lips, her senses overwhelmed by a wealth of uncontrollable needs and barely tapped emotions. Yearning rose within her like a maelstrom, turning her half-mad and nearly wild.

Then suddenly, and without the least bit of warning, the storm broke, ripples of astonishing pleasure breaking over her in heavy, crashing waves. She shuddered and writhed, wondering how she would possibly survive.

Somehow she did, though, her heart continuing to beat fiercely inside her chest, as the world spun dazedly around her.

She’d just started to recover when Drake began again, using his fingers as well as his mouth this time, so that she was left nearly incoherent by the time he’d finished.

Limbs quivering, body aglow, she lay completely pliant as he slowly eased his way up her body again, kissing and touching her in delectable intervals as he went.

Holding himself above her, he crushed her mouth to his for a long, hungry, possessive kiss that demanded both her surrender and her participation. Finding her strength again, she kissed him back, matching his every touch with an equally enthusiastic one of her own.

Below, she let him part her legs with his knees and settle himself between.

“If this really is a dream,” he said on a hoarse rumble, “it’s by far the best one I’ve ever had.” Then he thrust inside her, filling her completely.

She clung, shivering at his deep, heavy penetration. It had been years since she’d been with a man, and even then, her days as a wife had been so brief she’d been left little more than a maiden.

Part of her wasn’t ready for this, for Drake. He was so forceful, so masculine. But another part of her knew this claiming was long past due and that she was glad it was him.

Being with any other man would have been unthinkable since being with another man wouldn’t have included love.

She gave a quiet gasp at the realization, as the truth spread slowly inside her.

Ah, no, how could I have allowed this to happen?

But she had.

Without the least intention on her part, she’d fallen in love with Drake Byron.

Then he began to move, and her body came powerfully to life even as her mind went blank with ecstasy.

J
esu, she’s so tight
, Drake thought as he worked himself within her. Her body fit him like a sleek, hot, velvety sheath. Just the sensation was enough to drive him right to the edge. Somehow, he held back, wanting to know she’d taken her pleasure again before he gave himself permission to claim his own. Besides, their coupling would be better; couplings always were when the woman enjoyed herself as much as he did.

Yet she isn’t just any woman,
he knew, relishing the feel of her slender arms wrapped around his back, her shapely legs twined around his waist.

This is Anne. And finally, at last, she is mine.

Needing her, all of her, he captured her mouth in a fervid kiss, tangling his tongue with her own as he established a demanding rhythm that she was compelled to match. He drank in the sweet scent of her skin, his own skin growing hot and slick with a light sheen of perspiration. His pulse thundered out a crazy tattoo between his ears, his blood pumping in thick, sultry beats through his veins.

Gliding his fingers over her pliant flesh, he stroked the tender peaks of her breasts before roving lower, then lower still to tangle between their merged bodies.

A long, keening moan issued from her throat as he touched her most sensitive places, her hips thrusting upward to meet his own as her body bowed with unmistakable rapture and shuddering, gasping completion.

Then he too gave himself over, stripping off the last of his restraints as he thrust with a raw, almost primitive need inside her. Bliss poured through him as he climaxed, his entire body shaking from the devastating force of his release.

The world spun around him for several long moments before he rolled to his back and cradled her against his heaving chest. Closing his eyes, he wondered again how she could be anything but real. Stoking a hand over the length of her tousled tresses, he let himself dream.

S
ebastianne lay stunned, returning slowly to herself as she listened to the reassuring rhythm of Drake’s heart beating beneath her ear. She knew she should leave, memory of the imprint of the key returning to her like a ghoulish specter. Still, she didn’t have the strength to move; Drake had wrung every ounce of energy from her body with the heady beauty of his lovemaking.

Never in her life had she known such bliss. Never before had she been so content. She wished this moment would never end.

But it will
, whispered a cruel voice.
It must.

For now, though, she would steal a few moments more. She needed him, needed this in a way she wouldn’t have imagined possible even a few hours ago.

He was asleep again, his breathing slow and measured once more. With the sleeping draught still pumping through his system, would he even remember any of this come morning? For her sake, she knew it would be better if he did not; yet she couldn’t help but wish otherwise.

Snuggling closer, she let herself drift, praying for tomorrow never to arrive.

Some while later, she awakened with a start, blinking into the grey darkness that warned of the approaching dawn.
Zut alors!
she cursed, remembering everything, aware that she must leave Drake and the warm comfort of his arms while there was still time.

Ever so carefully, she extracted herself from his embrace, relieved when he didn’t move but instead slumbered on. Aware she dare not light a candle, she felt her way carefully across the room, searching with her toes for the soft cotton of her nightgown and robe puddled in a heap on the floor.

Luck helped her find them, and remained on her side while she pulled on the garments with shaking hands—the wax case with the imprint lying like an accusation in her pocket. She located her slippers as well, tucking her feet silently inside.

Listening a few last moments to Drake’s quiet breathing where he lay in bed, she put aside the ache in her chest and forced herself to turn away. With a soundless turn of the latch, she let herself out.

She reached her room without incident, meeting no one on the stairs. Falling onto the bed, she huddled with her knees drawn into a ball, knowing she would have to get up again soon. She was painfully aware she would need to pretend that she’d passed an easy, uneventful night, and that nothing at all had changed.

As for Drake?

What if he remembered? What if he did not?

Either way, his reaction would do nothing to cure her already broken heart, for she could never stay with him. Nor could she ever let him know of her love.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she let the tears flow.

D
rake squinted against the sunlight filtering beneath the heavy bronze damask curtains in his bedroom. Rolling over, he buried his face against the pillows and willed himself to go back to sleep.

Although considering what time he’d retired to bed last night, he ought to have had plenty of rest by now. Thinking back, he recalled that he’d eaten dinner and drunk a glass of port, then he’d grown so tired that he’d come up to bed and fallen straight to sleep. Flashes of memory chased through his mind, scenes and sensations rising from the depths of his nocturnal oblivion.

What an amazing dream I had,
he thought. In truth, it had been the most extraordinarily sexual dream he’d ever had, not even the randy longings of his teenage years could compare. The memory alone was enough to make his body tighten with remembered pleasure and a shiveringly intense level of satisfaction.