The Stanhope Challenge - Regency Quartet - Four Regency Romances (17 page)

“Damn right, you do.” He fiddled with his shirt ties, undid the buttons on his flies and stepped from his shoes. With a few flicks of his fingers, he cast off his shirt and let his trousers drop, then his small clothes.

She bit her lip.

One hand on a chair back, he stepped from the heap of his clothes—and she was breathless with the glory that was Colonel Wesley Stanhope of His Majesty’s Hussars.

True, he bore the scars of his career in the cavalry. A slash across his taut ribs. A nasty gash, red but healed, on his massive left thigh. The wounds of Talavera shone more brightly though, more starkly, and she caught back a gasp. He would not want her pity. Not now. Never here.

His left arm hung at an odd angle, witness to how it had been broken and not appropriately healed. His left ankle was larger than the right, but both corded legs looked healthy, normal. Of course, there was the facial scar that could not diminish but only enhanced his square jaw, his dimple and make him more debonair than the night she’d decided he was destined to be hers. And as for the eye patch, evidence of the loss of his left eye to a saber’s cut? Ah. That she could not heal, but she had made him see how she loved him—and she could and would make him see so much more.

“What do you think?” he asked, his left eye muscle twitching below the patch, showing his nerves and his tremulous distaste for her examination of his wounded body.

“Shall I tell you?” she whispered and walked forward to press her torso to his and enfold him. “Darling.” She splayed her fingers atop the breadth of his chest. He was so broad, her fingers did not meet. She sent her hands down his huge arms. He was power and might. Sleek and sturdy. She twisted her hands down to run them over his ribs, and as she sank her fingers to his groin into his nether hair, she barely made a sound as she said, “You are stunning. A male creature who makes me want and need.”

He hauled her against him, one hand driving up into her hair, sending her ribbon to the floor. “I wish to hell I were that creature who adored you the first night we met.”

“Would you have made love to me then?” she asked, enthralled by the way he kissed his way down her throat.

“Aye. If you’d been mine then, I would have taken you in Adam’s library.”

“Ah,” she said, “and here I thought you were such a gentleman.”

“I tried to restrain myself but failed with you, Lady Featherstone.” He lifted her face and focused on her lips. “Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I think I’ll have you wherever I want, whenever I want.”

“Oh, good!” She gave him a peck on the lips. “Will you please do me a favor?”

“Mmm. What?”

“Hurry.”

He laughed then, throwing back his head then crushed her to him to take her lips in a fierce assault. “You have to ask for mercy, my lady, because I intend to have every morsel of you in my hands.” He kissed her then, all lips and tongue and teeth. “And in my mouth.”

She shivered and pulled out of his arms. Knowing his infirmities and his balance were off, she gave in to her own impatience and reached down to gather up her gown to once more fling it off.

For long minutes he did not move while he examined her, head to toe. “In the bright light of day, my darling Lacy,” Wes said as he took one step toward her then another, “you shine like fine ivory silk.”

She grabbed his hand and led him beside her to the bed. “I hope to god you do not treat me like I’m silk.”

He smoothed her hair back from her face and cupped her chin with one strong hand. “I shall treat you like my lover.”

“Precisely what I am.” She fell back on the mattress, up on her elbows to beckon him with wagging fingers. “Come here and show me.”

But he hovered over her hips, his arm shaking with exertion. Or was it tense delight?

Then, with two hands to her knees, he spread her legs and looked his fill. “You have the loveliest
chat.
”

She vibrated at the compliment. “So you have said. Will you have more of me?” she asked, her voice tremulous with bashful expectation. “
That
way?”

His lightning gray eye sparked with sensual need. “You crave more of my mouth on you?”

“Everywhere, yes, I do.” She undulated. “I do. I never knew men loved women like that.”

“Pleasure comes in many forms.”

“I’ve seen only one way. Like animals mate.”

He hooted. “Like a stallion takes a mare.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Take me that way, will you?”

He advanced on her, chuckling but fierce like the warrior he was. Bold, massive, and so amused. The dimple in his left cheek twitched. “I’ll have you in so many ways, your head will spin.”

“I’m ready. Let’s get to it!”

“A harpy!” he laughed, but his expression died to a serious note. “I fear to hurt you though. You are, my darling, very small here.” His fingers slid to her seam and glided up inside her.

“Too small?” She panicked. “Do you not like me?”

“Sweetheart, shh.” He soothed her with tiny strokes inside her body. “I adore you. You are just precisely the right size for me.”

She relaxed and took his cock in her one fist. “And you, my darling, are very well hung.”

He snorted. “The better to please you, you demanding piece.”

She opened her legs so wide that his hips sank between them. He took her slowly and she breathed deeply to take rod of his manhood. “Put more of that inside me. No more delays.”

He insinuated one arm behind her hips and lifted her, then sent his cock up inside her to the hilt. She hung suspended in the euphoria of what she had needed for months and months. Wesley Stanhope, deep inside her mind and heart, now inside her body.

But he halted. Caught his breath. “We must breach this.”

She knew he meant her virginal wall. Arms to the mattress, she braced herself. “Do it.”

He snorted and brushed his lips on hers. “Courageous Lacy.”

“Eager Lacy. Dying Lacy.” She cuffed him. “Wes?” she pleaded.

“Shh. One stroke and then you will enjoy this. I will ensure it.”

He plunged forward, and she felt only his move to claim her.

“There,” he said.

She grinned. “Easy. So easy.”

He kissed her quickly, then began moving like a sleepwalker, slow and steady, his mouth against her ear, breathing words of passion. Words she had yearned for from him. Some she’d never heard. “Sweet Lacy, god, you feel divine. Lacy, small and tender. You have the juiciest cunt. Christ. How you take all of me… You are a prize. Mine to fuck.”

The sensation of his cock claiming her made her frantic, blissful. Her cunt throbbed and pulsed. She wanted to cry out how she needed him to stroke her, take her, do her harder, faster. She bit her lip, dug her nails into his back and just let loose with a scream of wild delight.

He anchored himself to her, his hips pumping into her with swift force. “That’s right, love. Go. Cry! God, you are so good.”

He shouted and then he stopped.

His mouth to her throat, he fell over her body then rolled to the side. He outlined her mouth with a fingertip then cupped one breast and thumbed a nipple. “Did I hurt you?”

She examined him. He was all concern for her, soft and sweet, the caring lover. His face was relaxed, his mouth moist and swollen from their kisses. His dimple roguishly showed in his handsome square face. His scar along his left cheek seemed redder with his exertion. And for the first time, the eye patch gone, she could see how the field surgeon had sewn down the lid where once his left eye had been.

Her Wes. He was dear and kind, hurt, but a hero to his men, to his commander and country. He had once been hurt in savagery and war, man’s inhumanity to man. But to her, he was simply her man to love. What he had done with her now was in another cause. A gentler, nobler one.

She pressed a palm to his left cheek and covered his scar, “No, Wes, you could not hurt me. You have made love to me.”

“I want to ensure you love the act. Love what we do together. I could not bear it if you turned on me now that we are one.”

“What makes you think I would?”

“The scope of human emotion is wide.”

“I doubt you could ever hurt me.” She asserted this with firm knowledge.

He pushed up, scowling as he rose and patted the bed to find his lost patch. Fuming, he snatched the black fabric and string off the bed.

Lacy did not move. She would not call attention to its loss. Or his. This was not the time or place. And the issue they had just opened was a terrible topic that she knew better than to probe. Not now. Later.

He went to the sideboard and donned the patch once more then poured fresh water from a pitcher into a large porcelain bowl. Taking up toweling and a bit of soap, he rinsed his hands then brought the cloth toward her. “Open your legs, Lacy.”

This time she did so slowly. And while passion sparked in his one good eye, his desire died to sweet concern as he put the cool towel to her hot, moist core and washed her carefully. When he was done, he leaned over to kiss her mouth. But hands to her ankles, he spread her thighs again and, once more, bent to take her with his strong, demanding mouth.

He ran the tip of his tongue down her seam. Plumped her lips and shot two large fingers up inside her. She whimpered with the fullness. Then he rolled her open, found her nub and ran the edge of his teeth over her taut little bud.

She cried out and put a hand to her flesh, the pleasure so unbelievable it was unbearable. Yet she wanted more of this rapture and let him take her hand away. “Let there be nothing between us.”

He parted her more fully then, placed his torrid mouth over her and feasted on her slick, demanding flesh.

She keened, plucking at his shoulders when she suddenly felt the ferocious need to buck and scream.

He caught her to him. “Roll over.”

At first, she couldn’t understand but scrambled to do it.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, draping his body over hers, both on their knees.

“As you wanted,” he gruffed and sent his cock up along her flesh from behind. “Like your precious horses.”

Then he found her channel, driving inside with a long spearing thrust that had her gasping for air.

Bent up and back, she sighed as she felt his huge penis filling her, rubbing her, stroking her with delicious force. She groaned.

“You like this?” he asked, hoarse, joy in his tone.

“Yes,” she ground out as he impaled her time and again in brusque rapture. “Oh, yes.”

He put his lips to her back, his one arm around her hip to play with her wet folds. She undulated against him, as he rammed her over and over with his huge, plunging cock. Then once more, she felt her core grasp him, ride him, vibrate against him, and she knew she was a perfect mate for this man.

This was what she had dreamed of long ago, when she was a young woman and she’d watched her mares and stallions mate. This was what she had seen, the male’s long penis, nearly to the ground, so huge, so dark. Sinking inside the mare. Taking her. Making her bare her teeth as he mounted her where she stood.

“That,” Wes said when he rolled her over, breathless, frantic and cupped her chin to kiss her. “That is what you shall have each time we mate. Each time we love, you will come. And then come again.”

“Yes!” She tried to wrap her arms around him, but he evaded her. Instead, he pulled from her reach and turned toward the headboard. Situating himself against a few of his pillows, he sat down, his cock up and weeping for her.

“Come here.” He patted his lap. “Put your lovely legs over mine and let me fuck you this way.”

She scrambled up to drape her limbs over his. Eager to touch him, she fondled his rod and cradled his balls in her hands.

He caressed her breasts. “I do not mean to neglect your lovely nipples.” He bent forward to lave one with tender care while he thumbed the other. Then he nipped her and captured the other in his mouth. “You are a treasure. Made for me.”

With one hand, she caught herself from falling backward.

“And you for me.” She sent her hand down between their bodies to recapture his penis and nestle his tip near her entrance, the memory of his size a sizzling temptation. She strained to get closer. “Please now, Wes.”

He slid inside her, easily, slowly and with such ease, that they each looked at the other, stunned and pleased.

Her eyes fell closed. The sensation of him, the fullness of him in this position, was not what she had felt before. He was more.

He pushed up inside her, anchoring her to him, the sound of her liquid want, sweet and succulently seductive.

Then he began a rhythm of slow and steady possession that had her rocking with him. Biting her lip, she tried to watch, but the view was difficult, the sensation too wild. She gave herself up to the torrent. This, this was what she had wanted from him.

“Wes!” she called out to him as a flood of excitement rushed over her once more.

He held her fast and hard, flowing into her with a forceful pace that had her rising to the ecstasy she’d known just minutes ago.

He rose from the bed, pulled her hips toward him, putting her legs in the air and holding her ankles. And then he fucked her. Good and long and hard and oh so sweetly that when she could not stand the heat or the pressure, she broke apart in a thousand tiny pieces, yelled how she adored him and went limp. He pounded into her, a few more joyous thrusts, his teeth bared as he growled and grunted then, bracing himself inside her, gave her his seed.

She drifted to a boneless rest as he crawled up beside her, clasped her to his side and said, “Lacy. Now, God help us both, you are mine. For good or bad.”

She smiled at him, happy beyond her dreams. “In sickness and in health.”

And they held each other for a timeless afternoon as the fire in the grate blazed higher and the rainstorm outside raged.

Wes worried what to do about their wedding. When to get the minister. How to do so without causing a stir among the villagers. Or rumors flying back to London, Lacy’s father, or his own brother, Adam, an MP with sensitivity to scandal.

But the rain was a torrent. Day after night. The lawns sodden. The air thick. The wind brisk and brittle. If the roads had been impossible the day Lacy had arrived, they had disappeared now. His front drive was submerged. His stone paths to the smokehouse and stables, all pools of water.