Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress (22 page)

A
veril glanced at the window and chewed her bottom lip. She’d made a number of sketches of the inside of the dower house, but gradually the light had worsened as the clouds thickened outside, until now the day resembled night. The storm had come upon them so swiftly and violently, they didn’t have a chance to get back to the safety of the castle. A matter of business had prevented Douglas McInnes from coming with them after all, and now Rufus had gone outside to put the horse and carriage under shelter in the old barn, and Averil was left here on her own.

A rumble of thunder sounded ominously overhead, and Averil could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

She hadn’t told Rufus she had been petrified of storms ever since she was a child. How did you tell the man you loved that you were a coward when it came to thunder and lightning? She’d wanted him to think well of her, and somehow she had managed to hide her agitation from him.

Had the strong feelings she experienced the night her mother left, of loss and grief and abandonment, resulted in this terror? Terror that came upon her whenever there was a thunderstorm, paralyzing her and stripping her of everything but the desire to curl into a ball and hide.

“Beth,” she groaned, “where are you?”

Beth knew about her fear, and kept an eye on her if there was a storm approaching. But Beth wasn’t here.

Perhaps it would be all right, she told herself with wild optimism. The storm might move off. Or she might be able to remain calm, this time. Did she really want Rufus to see her like this? A gibbering mess?

A flash of lightning made her jump and she dropped her sketch pad. Inside the room it was getting gloomier and gloomier. Her fears rose up as the thunder roared overhead, threatening to overwhelm her, but she forced herself not to run but to stand very still, trying to breathe, trying to quiet her chaotic thoughts.

She told herself again that it might be all right, that the worst was over and the storm was leaving, and everything would be fine.

The next flash of lightning was so bright, so alive, it undid her completely. Thunder crashed violently, making the whole house shake. She screamed and curled her hands over her head, and screamed again as the thunder growled on and on, as if there were a wild animal loose inside the room with her.

And then suddenly strong, warm arms wrapped around her, tight, and she was being held in Rufus’s embrace. Above the roaring of the storm she became aware of his voice, soft and deep in her ear: “It’s all right, I’m here, I’m here. Averil, I’m here.”

Frantically, she clung to him, her hands clutching at his jacket, her face buried in his chest, as if she wanted to become a part of him. He was damp from the rain, his hair plastered to his head, his skin cold. The familiar scent of him filled her head. Another crash of thunder and then another and she cried out, sobbing, and he lifted her into his arms. She felt herself being carried and the next moment he’d tugged a dust sheet off a chaise longue and sat down on it, his arms still around her, curling himself about her as if he was protecting her with his body. As if the storm really were inside with them and the only thing that stood between her and oblivion was Rufus.

He was speaking but the thunder was so loud she couldn’t understand him. She lifted her head, wild-eyed, and his face was so close. His mouth was so close. Another bang of thunder and she kissed him.

H
er soft lips were warm against his cold ones. Rufus could feel her heart pounding with fright, and her arms were wound around his neck, pulling him closer against her. Passion ignited and suddenly he was kissing her as wildly as she was kissing him.

Averil gasped.

Rufus lifted his head. Her eyes were closed and she looked pale in the murky light of the thunderstorm. He noticed, too, that her dress was soaked where she had been clinging to him, and he could see her tightly budded nipples outlined against the cloth. Desire ripped through him, tightening his body, sending the blood pumping through his veins. He was no longer thinking straight.

He began to shrug off his jacket, hands clumsy, tugging it down over his arms and tossing it aside. His shirt was just as soaked, so he stripped that off, too. Another burst of thunder and she buried her face against his bare chest, whimpering like a cornered animal.

Her golden hair had tumbled down, and he ran the silken strands through his fingers. He wanted to bury his face in its softness, but somehow his common sense reasserted itself. Rufus knew the difference between comforting a distressed woman and seducing her, and he knew he couldn’t take much more of this temptation. This was Averil, the woman he was in love with, and although this felt perfectly right he knew he was deceiving himself.

“Averil,” he said roughly, and tried to draw her away slightly so that they weren’t so close, but she only pressed closer, their bodies melding against each other. “Averil,” he groaned.

This time she lifted her head, her eyes huge and dark. He cupped her face in his hands, feeling the tremors running through her. Her hands reached for him, running over his jaw, his cheeks, his mouth. And then she was kissing him again, and with an abandon he found impossible to resist.

He reached down to touch her breasts, so soft and exquisite, and covered one lush mound with his palm. She moaned and her nipple tightened further. Averil tipped her head back, arching toward his touch, and it was an invitation for him to bend his head and kiss her throat, trailing his lips over her skin.

Outside the rain was tumbling down so heavily he could no longer hear the thunder. All he was aware of was the feel and scent of the woman in his arms, and her eagerness as she responded to his touch, her gray eyes half-closed, her long lashes brushing her creamy skin, and her mouth swollen from his kisses.

He wanted her, by God he did. More than he could remember wanting a woman for years, and even then . . . when had he ever felt this intensity? This desperate need to possess?

Rufus groaned and shook his head. It was impossible. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t ruin an innocent. Even if it meant gaining everything he wanted, he couldn’t do it.

H
e was moving away from her. Averil felt a sudden chill, and not just because the warmth of his body had been isolated from hers. In his arms she’d forgotten her fear of the storm, and for the first time ever that she could remember, she had felt safe from the thunder and lightning.

She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want him to stop touching her. Kissing her. Holding her. She was the huntress, she reminded herself feverishly. It was she who made the decisions.

“Rufus,” she said, her voice husky. “Don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

She touched his hand, and then her fingers slid into his, and he tightened his hold on her. His eyes were so dark and intense, sliding over her face to linger on her lips, and then lower to the shape of her breasts beneath her gown. He looked hungry. Starving. For her.

“Oh, Rufus.” His chest was naked and she reached out, running her hands over his skin. She’d never touched a man like this before and she couldn’t seem to stop. His body was so different from hers, harder, with a line of dark hair running down to his stomach and vanishing beneath his breeches. She leaned forward and licked his skin, running her tongue over the bud of his nipple, shocking herself, and then did it again, just to remind herself that she was a huntress.

He cupped her face, his mouth finding hers in what promised to be a long, passionate kiss. But Averil smiled and pulled away. Her eyes were on his as she began to undo the little buttons that ran down the front of her bodice, one at a time, only the tremble of her fingers to show she wasn’t as confident as she was pretending.

“Averil,” he growled, “you’re playing with fire.” But he was watching her with fascinated attention.

“I know. I don’t care.”

His hands covered hers—to stop her or to help?—but the dress was agape and his knuckles brushed her naked skin. He groaned and bent his head, once more kissing her mouth, his tongue finding hers and doing a dance so erotic she could hardly bear it.

“This is—” he murmured against her lips.

“—wonderful,” she finished for him. “Don’t stop, Rufus. Please don’t stop now.”

Her words seemed to awaken him from a trance. He searched her eyes. “You know this is madness, Averil. Complete and utter madness.”

“I don’t care,” she declared, and knew it was true. Right now, right here, she wanted this man she loved. And if he wanted her then why did they have to stop?

But perhaps that was the trouble; perhaps he didn’t want her?

Rufus was holding her hand, his fingers stroking hers, but he was staring into her eyes with one of his intense looks. She tried to read his thoughts—need and doubt and resolve—and then he was lifting her fingers to his lips. He spoke with certainty.

“Averil, if we do this, then you will marry me. We
must
marry.”

Her heart gave a thump. Marry him? It was what she wanted, and yet there was something in his face she didn’t understand, something determined and irrevocable, and suddenly she was no longer sure she was the huntress after all.

She opened her mouth to express her doubts, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Come here.” His hands rested possessively on her shoulders, his face filled with a new purpose. It was as if he had cast aside his doubts just as she had begun to experience hers.

“Rufus.” She reached for her buttons again, this time to do them up, but he brushed her hands away and began to peel down her clothing so that her breasts were clearly visible through her thin chemise.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered. “You want me, Averil.”

She stared down at herself, and was amazed at this evidence of her desire. The buds of her nipples were pointed through the silk. He ran his fingertips over them and she gasped as sensation washed over her.

He smiled, that wicked smile she loved, and then he bent his head and his mouth was on her, his warm tongue circling her. It was marvelous, so astonishing that she didn’t want him to stop. She held his head against her, and when his mouth closed over the tight bud of her nipple she arched toward him with the intensity of her pleasure. Her breath was coming in short gasps and her body was hot and achy. All thoughts of stopping were gone. She needed something from him and she had no intention of denying herself, or him.

His hand was on her stockinged leg, and he was half-lying across her, his naked chest beneath her hands, his skin against hers. He began to kiss her again, distracting her, but she was still very aware of his fingers on her thigh, moving higher, closer to the hot ache. She could hardly bear it. And then he’d reached the apex of her thighs and was touching her, his gentle, experienced fingers causing chaos. Pleasure was the foremost objective and it began to build, and then his mouth covered hers as she cried out, trembling and gasping as the ecstasy burst inside her.

It seemed to take a long while to return to calm, for her thoughts to become coherent, and for her body to stop its wild tingling.

“So passionate,” he murmured, and she realized he was still touching her.

“Oh.” The tingling was returning already, and with it the needy ache. “I thought . . .”

“That we were finished?” He laughed softly. “Not yet, my love.”

She stroked his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss her fingers, biting them gently. His features were taut, his own desire held in check, and she wondered for a moment whether he would play the gentleman again and get up and walk away from her.

She didn’t want that.

“Show me then,” she whispered.

Something possessive flashed in his eyes and he began to kiss her again with a determination that took her breath away. He reached for her hand and placed it in the center of his chest, drawing it down over his firm skin. There was a scar here, too, she realized, tracing it with her fingers, but he wouldn’t let her linger. He had his own ideas, and placed her hand firmly on the bulge in his breeches.

Averil murmured against his lips. There was no going back now, she was approaching unknown territory, but she didn’t care. She wanted to go there with him. She was no longer the huntress; she was his accomplice in the pursuit of pleasure.

He’d settled himself down on his side, beside her on the chaise longue, and his fingers were stroking her again, building on that hot, aching need. She was gasping and panting, running her own hands over his body. He settled her leg across his hips, opening her to his ministrations, and a moment later she felt him hard against her, the tip of his cock brushing the slick swollen flesh, before he began to push gently, his fingers teasing her in a way that made her forget this new intrusion, so that she was only eager for more. She pushed against him, clumsy at first, mirroring his movements, and he slid easily inside her, her body was so wet and ready for his.

“You’re safe,” he said, his voice a rumble in his chest. “I have you safe, Averil.”

If there was a moment of pain as he breached her maidenhead, she hardly felt it. She was too ready and eager for him for it to matter, and then he was deep inside her, filling her, and the sensation sent her over the edge of ecstasy, her body involuntarily grasping him with inner muscles she hadn’t known existed. He let go with a hoarse cry and pleasure swept over her, too, taking her far from the storm.

A
veril blinked up at him with sleepy gray eyes. She still seemed dazed from their lovemaking, and Rufus had to admit he felt dazed himself. She was certainly no shrinking violet and had openly enjoyed the physicality of their exchange. He was glad. He’d take pleasure in teaching her the finer points of lovemaking in the years to come. The thought of those years unfolding gave him a warm, satisfied feeling.

Was this happiness?

He’d almost forgotten how it felt.