The Wild One (33 page)

He sucked in his breath and went rigid.

And Juliet bent her head against his chest
and looked down at where her hand was.

"Is this ... all right?" she said.
What a
foolish thing to say to one's husband.

"I am enjoying it."

"A lot?"

"Mmmm.... Yes."

Her hand shaking, she ran her fingers over
him once again. He was hard beneath her touch, and she could feel
every throbbing inch of him through the flimsy barrier of his
breeches. Heat suffused her blood, her face, broke out all over her
skin. She had forgotten how very large a man actually was, and the
knowledge both excited and emboldened her. She wanted more.

Much more.

She wanted him inside her. Not Charles, not
a fantasy that Gareth was Charles, but Gareth himself.

Her husband.

As lightly as a butterfly, she ran her
fingernails over the warm, cloth-covered bulge and looked up at
him. He gave her a satisfied smile, inspiring her confidence. She
bore down harder upon him. His breathing changed and his eyes
drifted shut, almost on a grimace. He took a step backward, leaning
against the wall behind him. "Oh ... oh, Juliet."

Charlotte was still in the nearby chair.

"Put the baby over there on the sofa," he
said in a strained voice as she continued to stroke him. "Put her
where ... she won't be able to see us."

"She's asleep, Gareth."

"Regardless ... I don't want her to wake up
and see... I —"

And now
she
was laughing at
him
, amused by his modesty. She left him only long enough to
do as he asked, then returned, picking up where she'd left off.

"That's better," he breathed, his eyes
half-closed, his hand running up and down her arm, and the back of
his head resting against the wall as she touched and explored and
caressed him through his breeches. He had not so much as even
kissed her, but already he was making her forget, simply by
allowing himself to be seduced by her femininity — a femininity
that held him hostage in her hand and brought a singing excitement
to Juliet's slowly awakening heart. She had forgotten how wonderful
it felt to seduce a man. She had forgotten this hot,
blood-to-the-cheeks sensation of growing arousal. She felt strange
and shaky and not herself, her skin afire where her clothes lay
against it. A tendril of hair fell from its pins to cling damply to
her neck. And now she could not help herself. Could not stop
herself from running her hand all over and around him, cupping the
twin sacs that lay between his legs, palming the swollen, straining
bulge that pushed to break free of the breeches.

She sank to her knees and kissed him through
the warm fabric.

"By God!" he gasped, nearly collapsing
against the wall behind him. His hands were on her head, stroking
her crown, pulling the other pins free until her silken tresses
tumbled down her neck, her nape, her back. She rubbed her cheek
against him. She shaped the hard contour of his thighs and buttocks
with her hands and kissed and nibbled the length of him through his
breeches, until he was groaning with pleasure. Then, her fingers
shaking, Juliet began to work on the flap of his breeches, pushing
the buttons through their holes one by one until the fabric fell
loose and he sprang out against her cheek, huge and hot and
engorged with desire. She took him in her hands, rubbed the warm
length of him against first one cheek, then the other, and began
planting gentle kisses up and down his rigidity.

"Juliet ... oh,
God!
... I ... I am
sorry ... I don't know if this is ... is a good idea ... I mean, I
... want to make it last."

She parted her lips and touched him lightly
with her tongue.

"
Oh!
Juliet,
please
!"

But as she took the swollen head into her
mouth, he gasped, braced himself against the wall and began making
helpless sounds of defeat. His hand clenched a thick swatch of her
hair with a despair that almost pained her as she licked and sucked
and pulled at him. He stood it for only so long, before finally
hooking his hand around her damp neck and urging her back to her
feet. She slid her hands up beneath his shirt as she rose,
thrilling to the hard-muscled feel of his torso, the warmth of his
skin, the splendor of his physique. His mouth, fierce with passion,
crashed down on hers, his tongue thrusting between her teeth. And
now he was pushing her steadily backward, his breath pulsing
against her cheek as he kissed her, her fingers still stroking the
hard, hard muscles of his inner thighs, the rigid tumescence
between his legs.

"Juliet ... by God, Juliet, you are driving
me beyond wild ..."

Yes, she had done the right thing. She would
never regret this, not ever, not in a million years. Her lips clung
to his, her hips grinding helplessly against his swollen shaft. Her
hand, closed around him, was crushed between their bodies as he
curved an arm around her waist and bent her nearly double over it,
still kissing her, still driving his tongue against hers. He broke
the kiss, breathing hard, and she gasped as his lips grazed her
exposed throat, his fingers smoothing the silken skin of her neck,
her chest, and finally dipping beneath the lace-edged neckline of
her chemise.

"Oh, Gareth ..."

His hand was big and hot and wonderful
against her skin. He pulled down both chemise and bodice, cupping
one plump breast in his hand and popping it free. His thumb flicked
over the nipple, and then his mouth was against the soft white
swell, suckling her, nipping around her nipple, licking, kissing
and loving her.

Juliet gasped as she felt the first violent
waves of climax building within her. She moaned and pushed herself
against him, wantonly grinding her hips against his, even as her
lips blindly sought his mouth, and her fingers slid up the back of
his nape and into the soft waves of his hair.

"Oh, Juliet ... " He was cupping her breast,
feverishly kissing it. "You are so beautiful ... so very, very
beautiful."

She moaned, lost in the haze of mounting
passion.

"Say my name, dearest," he whispered
hoarsely, his mouth moving to the other breast even as he slid his
hands beneath her skirts and began to pull them up, "say my name so
that I can hear it on your lips and know that I am the one who
fires you."

"Gareth!"

He laughed.

"Gareth, Gareth,
Gareth
!"

This last came out as something of a
breathless cry, for his hands had framed her outer thighs, clasping
and lifting her straight off the ground. Caught by surprise, her
feet dangling, she grabbed at his shoulders to brace herself as he
held her, poised, just above his stabbing hardness. His fingers
kneaded her bottom, cool air swept up between her open legs to kiss
her most intimate flesh. She looped her arms around his neck and
kissed his brow, his temples, even the loose hair that clung to
them. Kissed his lashes, the bridge of his nose, his slightly
roughened cheeks, his hard, demanding mouth, even as she opened her
legs as wide as she could, instinctively seeking him, desperately
wanting him. And then there was only the hot, probing head of his
manhood, poised at her entrance.

She tensed.

He went still, refusing, as was his word, to
coerce her into doing anything she didn't wish to do.

And then Juliet, aching for him, wanting all
of him inside her with an intensity that threatened to blow her
apart, dropped her lips against the top of his head and squirmed
toward him.

"Oh, Gareth —
please!
..."

It was all the encouragement he needed.
Holding her effortlessly, he slowly lowered her onto himself, his
engorged shaft completely filling her, spreading her, touching upon
wet, intimate walls and moving deeper and deeper inside of her. He
was huge. He was wonderful. Her head fell back in mindless ecstacy.
A last pin tumbled from her hair and tinkled to the floor, the
heavy mass of mahogany hair rippling down her neck, down her back,
swinging sensuously against his hands. Still clasping her at the
hips, he lowered her until she fully sheathed him, her legs resting
atop his hard thighs, her feet dangling; then, when she thought she
might explode from the exquisite torture of it, he slowly lifted
her up, sliding her up and off each long, delicious inch of
himself.

"Oh,
Gareth
!"

Back down he slid her. Her head fell
forward, her fingertips driving into the rock hardness of his
shoulders as she fought to delay the brilliant shards of feeling
that were already whirling her up and into their spinning vortex.
Her breasts were level with his mouth now, and she cried out as he
took first one, then the other, into that hot wetness, to be kissed
and loved even as he began to slide her back up his rigid length
once more.

Back down.

Back up.

Faster now, their breathing growing hoarse
and ragged and strained, his breeches falling farther and farther
down his legs, and her skirts and hair lashing her back, her
bottom, with each savage, mighty thrust.

"Oh, Gareth ...
Gareth!
"

He whirled her around and they fell across a
table behind them. Hard wood behind, hard body above, her hair
hanging over the edge and her husband pounding into her. His mouth
hot and hungry on hers, his hands everywhere, the table squeaking
and shaking and bumping with every thrust. Juliet felt climax
rushing toward her as each savage thrust sent her body inching down
the table's smooth surface, cried out as her name burst from his
lips and his seed burst from him, exploding into her and sending
her spinning out over the edges of reality. She bucked and arched,
climaxing not once but twice, three times, tears of joy and
fulfillment running down her face as the fierce, rapturous waves
rocked through her.

Presently, their breathing returned to
normal. They realized they were lying on a bare table, he atop her
with his weight on his arms, she with her legs spread open and her
feet dangling over the sides — and, spontaneously, both of them
began to laugh at the total ridiculousness of their positions.

For Juliet, everything inside of her still
rang like air around a reverberating bell, free and joyful and
alive. And everything inside of her knew that her carefree, loving,
rakehell of a husband had finally banished the ghost that had
claimed the last year of her life.

"Gareth?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"I think ... that there may be hope for us
after all."

Chapter 26

From his brother's friends, the Duke of
Blackheath learned that Gareth had not been seen since parting
company outside the church in which he'd been married. From Lavinia
Bottomley, he learned that he owed several hundred pounds for
damages incurred to her establishment when Gareth had felled
London's reigning boxing champion. And from the Plough Inn, which
sold tickets to the stagecoach, he learned that a man answering
Gareth's description, along with a woman and child, had bought
tickets and appeared to be heading vaguely north.

So, then, Gareth had failed after all, and
was slinking home, just as Lucien had feared.

And, predicted.

His face bitter with disappointment, Lucien
turned Armageddon north, his faithful informer galloping beside
him.

~~~~

Juliet woke to the sound of Charlotte
whimpering for her breakfast. She opened her eyes, stretching
lazily and blinking against the bright sunshine that streamed
through the windows. A chaffinch was singing just outside, and a
breeze pushed at the dingy old curtains that had been left in the
dower house by the previous occupant. Yawning, she reached for the
man in whose arms she had just spent the night.

The bed was empty. She turned over.

"Gareth?"

No answer. She sat up.

"Gareth?" she called again.

Nothing but Charlotte's increasingly
impatient whimpers.

Rubbing her eyes, she swung her legs from
the bed. A small shelf clock was on the mantle, and she gasped as
she saw the time. It was almost half past nine! She had never slept
so late before!

But then, she thought, blushing, she had
never spent the night in a man's arms before, either. Her time with
Charles had been brief and intense, consisting of stolen moments
behind her stepfather's woodshed or clandestine meetings with her
dashing British officer dressed as a civilian farmer so as not to
arouse suspicion. But she had never spent a night with him. Had
never lain her head atop his chest and fallen asleep while he
stroked her hair and told her stories about his childhood, never
dreamed in the protective circle of his embrace, never laughed
until the tears rolled helplessly down her cheeks — as she had done
last night when Gareth had told her what he and the Den of
Debauchery members had done to a certain statue back in Ravenscombe
...

She laughed just thinking about it. Purple
parts, indeed!

She was still giggling as she crawled out of
bed and stretched. It was then that she saw the note propped on the
table beside the bed:

Dearest Juliet,

I have gone off to begin my work for
Snelling; I do not know what time I will be home, but it may be
late. Please do not wait up for me if this should be the case.

With love and kisses,

Gareth

P.S. I miss you already. More love and
kisses.

Happiness flooded her heart and she cradled
the note to her breast for a long moment, filled with a strange
longing, an inner peace.
I miss you already.

She touched the note to her lips.
I miss
you too.

Charlotte's cries were getting louder, more
demanding. Carefully setting the note back on the table, Juliet
crossed to the wooden cradle that stood near the hearth and lifted
her daughter out. Gareth, bless him, had gone into Abingdon the
night before and found the cradle, trading it for a fencing lesson
that he promised to give the baker's son later in the week.