Amethyst (48 page)

"Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm."

His thumb rubbed the peaked nipple in a circular motion that sent Amy's senses spinning to match. Then he lowered his dark head, and his warm mouth closed over where his thumb had been, and their inane discussion came to an abrupt end as her body responded with newly heightened awareness.

Amy's hands moved to the ribbon securing his hair, and she untied it and tossed it aside. When Colin's wet tongue trailed to her other breast, the rosy bud hardened instantly. She held his head captive, her fingers tangling in his midnight locks as he suckled and licked. More gentle than usual, his teeth grazed her ever so lightly, but her baby-swollen breasts surged in response, sending fiery sensations to her core.

When his lips reclaimed hers, her heart swelled with emotion. She touched him wherever she could reach: his muscled chest, his sleek side, the hard, smooth planes of his back. He felt divine against her palms: warm, large and solid, firm, yet silky soft.

His fingers brushed the soft curls between her thighs, then delved deeper, caressing until she became dewy with moisture. He slipped one finger inside, probing with a heavenly skill that made her squirm with excitement and tore a ragged sob from her throat.

"Now," she begged, her voice low and raspy, foreign to her own ears. Her hand moved down to encircle him. "Now,
please
."

She parted her thighs further, anxious to receive him. But though he moved over her, he glided down, until the roughness on his chin and cheek grazed against the softness of her belly.

"Are you in there, little one?" His voice vibrated into her body. "It's your father." His lips moved against her stomach, his breath moist and warm. She groaned, half with the frustration of delayed gratification, half with delight in his tenderness for their child. Her hands reached down to tug impatiently at his shoulders.

"Your mother wants me now," Colin gloated to his son with a low chuckle of satisfaction. "But first I want to say…we love you."

"Colin…" His mouth was hot and wet on her skin. She yearned for it on her mouth, ached for his weight on her body, burned for him to bury himself inside her.

"Good-bye for now," Colin murmured just as she decided she couldn't bear this father–son meeting a moment longer. "We'll talk again soon."

He lifted his head. His warm breath wafted over the wet patch he'd left on her belly. She opened her eyes and gazed down at him, questioning his hesitation.

The eyes that blazed into hers were a deep, fathomless green, overflowing with emotion that words could never convey. His breath came in a deep, ragged rhythm as he hovered there, and she could feel his life force sluicing through his veins, to match the insistent throbbing between her legs.

Then he moved down instead of up.

His lips traversed her sensitive inner thighs, one and then the other, leaving a moist, fiery trail of kisses in their wake. Warm and damp, his breath washed over her most secret places. She froze, sure he could hear her heart pounding, until…

With the tip of his tongue, he touched her.

Lightly at first, then more emphatically. Unbelievably soft and intimate, gentle and rhythmic, his caress was all but unbearable. Her knees felt weak, her pulse raced, her hands and feet tingled.

She hadn't known such things happened between a man and a woman, hadn't conceived of it in her wildest dreams, but she wouldn't have stopped him for the world.

His tongue was hot and slick and just the tiniest bit rough, enough so she felt every movement with exquisite sensitivity. Her breath caught as he licked slowly—maddeningly, maddeningly slowly—along the length of her pulsing cleft.

Twisting beneath him, she cried out his name in a manner so wanton that somewhere deep inside she was shocked at her unabashed reaction. And what he was doing to her, for God's sake, this…this unthinkable thing.

It must be wicked.

But everything between Colin and herself seemed incredibly perfect, as though they belonged together, each and every minute particle of their bodies and souls. Her heart had always known they were meant to be, even if her head told her otherwise.

She trembled uncontrollably, lifting her hips to get closer still, until suddenly she was overcome by an awesome burst of joy, an irrepressible, shuddering release of passion. He met her high piercing cry with a low moan of pleasure, and he lifted his head, pausing for a long, torturous moment before he slid slowly up her body and settled his hips into the cradle of her thighs.

When Colin plunged inside her, Amy let out a long, soft moan. It felt so right, like paradise, to have him filling her body, that tears of wonderment came to her eyes.

He kissed her then, his mouth urgent and hungry, and she tasted herself on his lips. He rocked against her, his hips maneuvering in a rhythm as ancient as time, and she matched his every move. She could feel him holding back, feel the uneven tempo of his breath as he struggled for control, feel the staccato beat of his heart against hers.

And then, with a groan of capitulation, he let go, and she felt him pulsing inside her, his hot seed pouring over her womb where their baby lay safe inside. Arching herself closer, she cupped his buttocks and pulled him deeper as her own contractions burst forth, matching and melding with his until she couldn't tell where one of them stopped and the other started.

Long minutes later, when their breathing had calmed and their hearts slowed, Amy sighed luxuriously. "I like that new game."

"Then we'll have to practice it some more, love, until we get it perfect."

"Mmm." She moved under him, feeling languid and seductive. "Colin?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I do that to
you
?"

It was a straightforward query, but Colin groaned, and she felt his body tense in response. "You're going to kill me, Lady Greystone," he murmured into the curve of her neck. "You're going to kill me."

He paused so long she nearly voiced her confusion.

"But I'll die a happy man."

Six months later

COLIN SLID HIS KNIFE
under the red seal and scanned the brief missive.

Bloody hell, just what he needed.

Rubbing his temples, he dropped the vellum letter atop the ledgers and journals that covered the scarred wooden surface of his desk—ledgers and journals he'd be forced to abandon for the next few days. Beyond the castle walls, he imagined the rolling land, freshly green with the first new shoots from spring planting. Although it was all too far away to hear, he'd swear he could make out the bleat of distant sheep, the dull thud of a log being felled, the vague bangs and scrapes of quarrying—all work he was loathe to let continue without his supervision.

The estate needed his attention too, damn it.

The year was halfway over, and he'd saved nowhere near half of his debt to Hobbs.

THE DOOR CRACKED
open. "Are you napping, my lady?"

"Hah." Amy looked up from her book as her buxom blond maid stepped inside. "My belly is so big and itchy, I cannot find a good position no matter how many I try."

As though he'd heard her complaint, her son swished in her womb, poking out fists, knees, elbows, and feet all at once, it seemed.

Lydia's kittenish blue eyes narrowed as she contemplated the rolling lumps on her mistress's abdomen. "Lud, that looks uncomfortable."

Amy laughed and set the book aside. "Sometimes I'm convinced I'm carrying a human octopus, or at the very least an accomplished acrobat." She pushed herself to stand. "Did you need me for something?"

"The lord said he has a matter to discuss. He waits in the study." Frowning, Lydia flipped through the gowns in Amy's wardrobe. "Cuds bobs, milady, you've got nothing decent to wear that will fit your ballooning midsection."

"Marry come up, Lydia! I needn't dress up to visit with my husband!" Giggling, Amy went next door to see him in the study.

She quieted as she drew near. The door was ajar, and she could hear Benchley's voice. "Fernew was asking when the new thresher will arrive."

"I canceled delivery."

At Colin's grim words, Amy froze, her hand on the latch.

"You—"

"Canceled it. Fernew will have to get along without it. Tell him it's only till next year."

The defeat in his voice gnawed at Amy's insides.

"And the mill?"

She grimaced at Colin's heavy sigh. "That will have to be repaired; there's no way around it. Have Jenner order the parts; I should be back to help well before their delivery. No sense paying for more labor when it isn't necessary. Anything else, Benchley?"

"No. No, my lord."

Amy jumped back when Benchley opened the door. He nodded to her and headed toward the entrance hall.

As his footsteps receded down the corridor, she stepped into the room. Colin was bent over a sheet of vellum, shaking his head. She bit her lip.

Another financial problem he couldn't solve, thanks to wedding her?

"Ah, Amy." He glanced up with a distracted smile. "Come here, love."

She went to him, smiling in return when he ran a hand over the swell of their child, learning her ripening form and feeling for signs of movement.

"Charles wants to see us," he said, looking up from her belly with thinly veiled disgust. "Tomorrow night."

"Charles?" Amy eyed the paper in his other hand. A large red seal was attached, broken but impressive nonetheless. "Charles who?"

"Charles. The king."

Her heart paused before continuing at an unsteady gallop. Of course she'd known that Colin was intimate with the king, that she was now a countess and expected to move in court circles. But here at Greystone, in their own little crumbling castle, she'd felt very removed from the possibility. "But…why?"

"Who knows? Perhaps he's miffed that I didn't ask his permission to marry you."

She leaned weakly against the desk. "His permission?"

Colin sighed, tossing the summons onto the surface with a flick of his supple wrist. "As a peer of the realm, ancient law says I'm obligated to obtain the king's approval. But no one actually asks—not even his own brother James before his secret marriage to Anne Hyde." With the heels of both hands, he rubbed his forehead, as though a massive headache had just arisen. "It's archaic; I'm certain no one has asked for centuries. Still, Charles and I were close once." He squinted, and his eyes turned a glazy dull color. "I don't know."

"Can't you just send him a note? Tell him you're busy and I'm with child?"

Colin's laughter was immediate; his eyes cleared and turned to her, a glittering emerald green. "No, we cannot just send a note, love." He caught her hand and pulled her onto his lap." When the king calls, one answers. It's off to Whitehall for us, I'm afraid." He was silent a minute, his fingers absently twirling one of her long ebony ringlets. "We'll leave first thing in the morning, to arrive at the town house by noon. You can nap before the evening festivities."

"I'm sure I won't sleep a wink tonight." She groaned softly and moved her hand to cover where their child registered his own protest, in the form of a particularly violent kick.

"It's nothing to be worried about. Charles is an affable sort."

"But there will be all those people…" She imagined hordes of svelte ladies, all dressed in the latest fashions. And haughty lords, beribboned and bejeweled, looking down their aristocratic noses at her bloated form.

"You already know some of them," he reminded her patiently, "from your shop."

"As
customers
. Oh, Colin, look at me! You're going to be sorry you married me, I just know it."

His fingers stilled in her hair, and he said very quietly, "I will never, ever be sorry I married you, Amethyst Chase. You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

When his hand moved to cup the back of her neck, and he pulled her toward him and kissed her lightly, she almost believed him. "And you're beautiful, as beautiful as ever. I swear it." He kissed her again, this time long and deep, his mouth warm and possessive, and she
did
believe him.