The Heir and the Spare (25 page)

“That is all?” Emilia blurted out. “What is he going to explain? What is he going to do to me?”

“Well, I suppose there is no need to send off another terrified virgin to her wedding night,” Lady Palmerston muttered. She then sat on the bed beside Emilia and proceeded with an explanation that had Emilia shocked, a little bit scared, somewhat aroused, and completely unable to sleep.

It wasn’t just this new information about “the act” that kept her lying awake in her bed and staring at the ceiling. Around midnight, her thoughts turned to her future husband. She was getting married to the one man she had ever desired and loved. It was positively thrilling. It was also terrifying. Everything was going to change.

But he wasn’t scary, at least. She could see how some might find him intimidating, with his tall frame that emanated strength. And there was something in the way he carried himself, as if simply expecting, or commanding, respect. But he made her feel safe. He also made her hot and bothered, made her heart race and her skin tingle. She had an insatiable need for his presence. Which was probably a good thing, since they were going to be stuck together for life.

But he did not love her, at least he had not said as much. She could tell that he desired her. Oh, that much was clear. And thanks to her aunt’s explanation, she was quite certain that he did like kissing her. He had bought her a ring that was perfect for her and a blinding weight on her left hand. She held it up; it even sparkled in the moonlight.

Their marriage was happening because they got caught. It was bound to happen, she conceded, thinking of all the many times they had been alone. She was getting married because she and her future husband could not control themselves when they were alone. And once they were married they would be together alone. A lot. And then they would do the act. Her aunt said she needn’t be scared or worried, that Devon would make it nice. Ha! If it were anything like kissing him, it would be beyond nice.

The clock struck midnight, knocking her out of her reverie. She was too hot, and so she threw off the blankets and walked over to the window.

Devon had no idea how long he had been standing there. Her room was dark, and he was envious that she was able to sleep tonight. He certainly could not.

His insecurities plagued him. Every moment of his childhood reinforced the fact, just in case he forgot, that he was the spare. Second best. He had escaped it in America, but now it was as if he had never left. He didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of him, really, but he could not live with Emilia thinking of him as her second choice, the spare, the next best thing. He knew on some level, in some corner of his heart, that he was the one she wanted. But he still needed to hear the words from her lips. It was best that they cleared things up before they were bound together for life.

And so here he was, standing below the window, telling himself to climb up to her.

Perhaps he was seized by a momentary sense of propriety. Perhaps he was terrified of her answer. Perhaps he was a little surprised that Lady Palmerston hadn’t anticipated his late-night visit and left a ladder for him. Perhaps he did not want to wake her if she was so lucky as to sleep.

He heard the clock strike midnight. With his hands jammed in his pockets, he turned to leave.

Emilia pushed the curtains apart, opened the window, and leaned out, savoring the cool air on her skin. She immediately saw him on the street. She saw the shrug of his shoulders, and that he was turning to go. She whispered his name as loud as she could.

He paused. For a moment they just looked at each other.

“Well, are you going to climb up or not?” she said, quietly, but loud enough so he could hear her. There was a tree with branches that reached for her window. He grabbed the lowest one and started to climb. When Devon reached the window to her room, she reached out her hand.

Funny how such a small gesture could mean everything to him. She stood before him in a plain white nightgown, one clearly not designed to arouse, but somehow it had that effect upon him all the same. He forced himself to look away before he forgot why he had come. He noticed that her room was bare, but with trunks everywhere.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked lightly.

“Yes. I’m getting married in the morning and I shall go live with my husband, who has yet to inform me of where we are going to live.”

“About that. I hate to tell you that he is simply going to whisk you across town to his hotel.”

“Really?” she asked, remarkably excited. “I’ve never stayed in a hotel before.”

“Don’t get too used to it. We’ll buy a house somewhere . . .” he said, his voice trailing off.

“So you could not sleep either?” she asked.

“Not at all. I saw your room was dark, and I was incredibly jealous that you were asleep.”

“I wasn’t. I couldn’t,” she replied, sitting on the bed, and he did the same.

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” he asked, as lightly as he could manage.

“No. Are you?” she asked nervously.

“No,” he said firmly, yet there was an unspoken “however” floating in the air. Emilia bit her lip, trying to wait patiently for him to continue. “I believe you, but old habits are hard to break,” he said.

“I’m confused,” Emilia replied.

“You heard Parkhurst the other night, calling me the spare,” Devon said, spitting out the last words. “It’s just that, growing up, Phillip and I . . . I was always treated as worthless, or useless, unless it was to take the consequences of something Phillip did. And I always did it, because it made me feel like I had a purpose. But then I almost killed a man in a duel.”

“The Duke of Grafton,” Emilia filled in.

“Yes. I left after that. But I saw the way you looked at Phillip one night, at the Maclesfield Ball. As if you loved him, and now we are to be married.”

“I thought he was you,” she replied, reclining back on the bed, and he did the same. They lay side by side, in the dark, not touching, but without much distance between them.

Having been an only child, Emilia could only slightly comprehend sibling rivalry. Obviously, with these twins, it ran deep. She resisted the urge to tell Devon that he was an idiot to think she had ever even liked his twin. “You two do look exactly alike, but your characters are vastly different. I was horribly confused for a while there. But you are not second best to me. You’re the one who makes me just
feel
things I’ve never felt before. And you are certainly not second best at kissing.”

“So you kissed him?” Devon choked out the words, heavily dosed with disgust.

“It was revolting and awful and I’d rather not discuss it. But that is how I knew there were two of you. And at that moment, I didn’t know who you were, or where you were, but just that you were the one I had wanted all along. Ever since that first night.”

“It was most ungentlemanly of me to kiss you while you couldn’t escape. But I can’t say that I regret it,” he said, smiling at the memory.

“You do realize that it is most ungentlemanly of you to be in my bedchamber in the middle of the night. Shall I ring for my aunt to chaperone us?” she asked with feigned innocence.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, turning onto his side to face her and pulling her into his arms.

For a second they just looked at each other, and even in the dark, Devon could see the desire in her wide eyes and wondered if she could see the battle within him—to behave as a proper gentleman, waiting to consummate the marriage until there was a marriage to consummate, or tumble her back onto the bed and just devour her. Did she not realize how alluring she was, with her bare legs and a horrible nightgown of a fabric so thin that he could see the outline of every one of her curves beneath it? He wanted to feel them, and so he reached out and skimmed his hand along the length of her, resting his hand on the curve of her hip.

Perhaps just one kiss. A prelude to their wedding night.

Devon cupped her cheek in his palm. She closed her eyes. He brushed his mouth against hers. He wasn’t sure which one of them deepened the kiss, just that it happened. Tangling and tasting, he somehow, with his mouth otherwise occupied, managed a smile. She wanted him.

She wanted
him.

Her hands gripped the lapels of his coat, wrinkling the fabric in her fists as she pushed the jacket open and writhed closer to him, pressing herself up against the length of him. She fit perfectly against him, and he clasped that perfection close.

He delved deeper into the warm sweetness of her mouth, and when she responded in kind, he gave up trying to kiss her gently. She writhed her hips against him, and his arousal, and he groaned softly into her mouth. She shifted again, placing her leg over his, so that she cradled him between her legs. That alone was nearly enough to send him over the edge. He was so close to her, and he only wanted more.

Had it not been for the detailed explanation she received earlier in the evening, Emilia might have felt differently about that hardness pressing up against her. Emilia knew it was the one thing that would cure her of this outrageous need that was taking over her. How she could be so hot while nearly naked, on a chilly night with the fire still simmering in the grate . . . she could not let him leave tonight. Not yet. Not until the moans and shouts bubbling in her were released.

Just one kiss, Devon reminded himself as his hands, obeying not his brain but something else, stole down her back, cupping her bottom, and pressing her tightly against him. His hands inched up, bunching the fabric of her nightgown as they traveled over her, coming to rest upon her breasts. Damn fool thing to do, as her moans chipped away at his honorable intentions.

But then her hands fumbled with a button or two on his shirt, and then she was touching his hot skin, and then her hands were roaming over him. He sucked in his breath. He pulled his mouth away from hers, immediately regretting it. And so he licked the part in her lips that beckoned him to enter.

He was a gentleman. He could restrain himself.

Or not.

Lips locked, still in a tight embrace, he rolled over on top of her, never once breaking the kiss. He pulled back a little, though, afraid of crushing her under his weight. Propping himself up on one elbow, their legs entwined, he gazed down at her face.

He knew it so well, having memorized the planes of her cheeks, the curve of her lips and eyelashes. And he knew all too well the expression; it was the same as the night of their first kiss, when he took that one glance back.

Lips swollen from his kiss. Eyes desiring, questioning.

He had regretted it then, yet savored it every night since.

“Oh, Em,” he murmured, tracing a trail across her lips with one fingertip and meandering along the ivory column of her throat, resting at the edge of that blasted nightgown.

“I like that,” she whispered, “you calling me Em.”

“Is there anything else you like?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, as he softly rubbed his fingers over the pink center underneath the fabric.

“That,” she said, closing her eyes.

Emilia could feel him leaning over her, could feel his breath stealing over her. His hot mouth closed over her breast and
oh
. “I . . . like . . . that.” She sighed, arching up to him.

So taken with the sensation as he licked and suckled at the tip, she was, at first, barely aware of his hands, smooth and strong, stealing up her legs, parting them with no resistance. Were they going to do the act now? She opened her mouth to ask, but instead gulped at the air.

What was he doing to her? Making that heat increase, making her writhe against the steady, determined stroke of his hand. Sucking in one breath and then another and . . . his lips came down on hers with a groan. He slid one finger inside of her, and she was shocked at the intrusion that her body welcomed. Thank God he didn’t stop.

And since she could not cry out as she wanted to, she told him with her kiss that she needed more.

He sat up, his hair slightly mussed, his lips fuller from their kisses.

“You’re not leaving now, are you?” she asked with unconcealed horror. He grinned.

“Hell, no, darling,” he murmured, yanking off his jacket, his shirt, his boots, his breeches, his smalls . . .

So that is what she had felt. His member stood out, inflaming both her passion and curiosity. Sitting up, she reached out to touch it, finding it hot and hard, yet with a silken smoothness.

“No. Not yet,” he choked. She withdrew her hand, and instead placed it on the muscular ridges of his abdomen. He tugged at her nightgown, pulling it over her head and dropping it on the floor without a second thought. He smiled as a blush fanned across her naked skin. He chased it with his kisses, all the way down to the soft bud of her sex. He settled there, licking and sucking at the folds until her gasps and cries threatened to wake up the house.

Devon wrapped her in his arms and just kissed her. But Emilia couldn’t concentrate on that, because his arousal was pushing against her, there. She moved her hips to feel more of him. She drew her legs up along his, not at all conscious of what she was doing, just that she needed him, all of him.

“Em,” he gasped into her neck, while pushing into her. “Tell me to stop now. Or else I can’t.”

“No.”

He pulled back.

“I mean, no, don’t you dare stop,” she murmured.

He kissed her as he pushed a little harder, and she stilled beneath him. He kissed her, coaxing her to let him in.

His swollen member pushed against her with a gentle force, and she felt him shiver. Wrapping her arms around him, she arched her hips beneath him.

“It might hurt, just his once.”

“I know. But please, Devon, I need something . . . I need—”

With one intense thrust he was inside her, catching her cry in his mouth. He was still for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. She was his now, and by God, if it wasn’t the greatest, most perfect sensation he had ever had the pleasure to know.