Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (24 page)

He was actually thankful to Helen for being so self-centered that she preferred an earl to a minor baron.
He should be on his knees, thanking God, because that change of
heart brought Helene into his life.

And that was all that mattered.

He was willing her to talk, to say anything inane enough to
allow him to explain his duplicity. All he wanted was to get her into the adjoining bedchamber and melt that panicked expression
from her face.
He didn’t dare breathe as she turned back to him, but the
blank look was back in her eyes. That should’ve been sufficient
warning, but it wasn’t.

“I...lied about that, too. I’m…not a maid. I haven’t been for years. I...I gave Gerard what he wanted, what we both wanted. That was the real reason my uncle sent me to
Bedlam. Sir Bingham couldn’t have his
only son and heir consorting with…me, could he?”

“Stop lying to me, damn it!”

Gil
shoved his chair back. And then he was stalking her. And she was flitting about the room. Aimlessly. In a panicked fashion. Senselessly. As if he was some brute and she’d be able to escape. There wasn’t enough room for Helene to run from him.

“I’m not lying, Gil! I swear it!”

“What about the bloody ball, then? What happened there?”

His voice broke, but he couldn’t stop it. He trapped her in the
corner, but she still turned away, huddling against the walls as if
he might hurt her.

“Nothing happened at the ball, My Lord,” she said flatly.
“Less than nothing.”

“Turn around and face me when you say that.”

It took some time before she did as he asked, and he
searched her face for a sign. She was pale and looked ready to
faint, but she met his gaze squarely.

“Tell me nothing of any significance happened at the ball, Helene. Make me believe it.”

“It was a dance, Gillian. What more could’ve happened?”

“This!”

He held her to him, trying to thaw the stiffness of
her lips with his, but she didn’t bend.

“Helene, my darling.” He murmured it against her hair, when
he realized he was losing.

“Don’t take me to France, Gillian.” Her voice was so soft he
almost didn’t hear it.

“Convince me.”

“How...do you want me to do...that?”

She had difficulty with
her words, and Gil noticed she hadn’t moved her palm from his
chest. She was clutching his shirt front and didn’t seem to
know it.
He looked at the ceiling for a moment.

“Gillian?”

She put her other hand beside the first.

“You’re a woman of experience, love. Suppose you figure it
out.”

He was watching as she jerked back from him, her fingers pulling out two buttons as she moved.

“You expect me to...to....”

“Make love to me, just like you did…with that Gerard fellow. Honestly,
this virginity thing is a bit much to swallow, even for me. You can stop pretending now.”

“Pre...tending?”

He could drown in those brandy-colored depths. They
widened as he leaned down, drawing her up simultaneously until
she was on tiptoe. And this time, her lips were warm,
clinging, and infinitely sweet.

There was no way to fight him. Or this. She knew the
instant she moved, drawing close and clinging to him.
Hard hands held her from the floor, dangling her toes above the wood as he plundered her mouth, stealing what little
breath she had. And she helped, her tongue toying with his, made him chuckle.

“You do it wrong, darling. You should never kiss with that
much passion unless you wish your partner to assume the worst.”

He chuckled, and her head bounced with the motion. He lifted his head and
caught her expression; eyes half-closed, lips pursed with emotion. She didn’t care.
She no longer cared when he lifted her completely into his
arms or when the door to the bedchamber clicked shut behind
them.

“Gillian?”

He turned up the oil lamp. The bedchamber they’d been given had the same dismal decor, but it didn’t matter.
Gil tossed off his shirt with ease, his eyes
never leaving her face, and then he nearly ripped off the fastenings
from his trousers as he undid them.

He wore fine lawn drawers underneath. Helene’s eyes moved quickly back to his face, then to the wall behind him, and then back,
struggling to act like she’d seen it often enough that it didn’t affect
her.

“I’m not so ugly that you need to turn aside, love.”

He didn’t sit to pull his drawers off, he simply lifted each leg and
tore them free.

“Barbarism is useful at times, isn’t it?”

The cry nearly made sound when he said that. It brought
back memories that were too dear. She hid the motion by looking
at the floor.

“Helene? Love. I promise I won’t do anything worse than anyone else you’ve bedded. You have my word of honor. As a gentleman.”

He breathed it against her ear, sending shivers through her. She fixed her
eyes on the spot of floor his bare feet stood in.
Then she felt him unfastening her hooks, sliding his fingers down her back like
he’d been born to the chore. She remembered that from the first
time, too.

“Sweet Helene…so sweet…”

He traced his lips from her forehead to her cheek and throat, whispering words the entire time. She lifted her chin to allow him access, uncaring of the
whimpers she made. Or that he might hear them.

“You’re not wearing a corset?”

“No.”

“Good thing. I’d hate to send some
poor working woman to the domestic bureau over it.”

“I...was warned not to wear one.” She didn’t dare look into
his eyes.

“Brilliant fellow, that.”

He spoke without a fleck of emotion,
then looked up towards the ceiling again. She was beginning to wonder why he kept doing that. There
was nothing interesting up there.

“Do you know how much I want you, love?”

He lowered his
head again and nearly touched noses with her.
She glanced down and gasped.

“I don’t mean just that, although, now that you mention
it....”

He slid her chemise straps off, shoving the garment down until it
met the petticoats at her hips.

“You wear too much.”

His hand touched her exposed
breast, and she gasped. Melted. Swayed. Her back arched, sending more breast to fill his palm
. A flash sparked at the contact. Grew. Spread.  

He bent his head and caught her kiss,
molding his lips about hers, teasing her mouth open. She
obeyed easily, longing to drown in the sensation. Needed, too. And the moan she gave demonstrated every bit of it.

“
You’re a bit of a tease, aren’t you, sweet? Distracting me when these little
nubbins are just begging…for…”

She stiffened as he bent, and demonstrated, suckling at a breast, sending flashes of intensity shooting from the spot. And it wasn’t filthy. Or horrid. Or disgusting. It was amazing. Torrid. Intense. And sensitizing to the point of pain.

“Gillian!”

Her
legs trembled before they gave, but she didn’t fall. He’d lifted his head and caught her with one arm, smashing her into his chest. And that sent even more flares through her entire frame. She cried aloud as his free hand
yanked petticoat ties open before shoving the garment down her legs. She’d seen his proficiency with the vagaries of feminine clothing in the gazebo. Such skill was almost worrisome.

“They meant nothing, darling. I swear.”

He read her mind so well,
she almost panicked, but then the cool feel of bedding met her back, while her front absorbed the warmth and weight and texture of Gillian as he settled easily within the embrace of her legs. And she just opened them for him. Without thought.
How well she remembered
that
. And more. But he didn’t give her any time to think!

A hand slid along her inner leg, along her knee. Higher. Sending shivers in their wake. And her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She should do something. Say something. Initiate something to mitigate the remembered pain.

He wasn’t helping. He plied her lips open with kisses, and then touched minutely with his tongue into her mouth. At the first touch, her entire body reacted, lunging right up against his.

“Oh, love. Oh sweet. So…unbelievably lovely. So…
ready
.”

Fingers reached her apex and at the first touch, she went stiff as everything in her experience careened to a halt. Time stopped. The world stood still. And for the barest moment, she saw such brightness she slammed her eyes to it. A cry tore her throat and then everything restarted, going to a blinding speed, while he continued manipulating her body into absolute heaven. Somehow orchestrating the bliss. With his motions. His fingers. Even his breath…as he chuckled.

Helene’s body kept lunging toward his, in non-rhythmic surges she couldn’t control. How could she? Lightning had to be behind the sensation coursing through her.  Striking her. Crashing through every limb, in harmony with each thud from her heart.

And before the sensation had fully ebbed, he moved. Taking a kiss. Matching his body to hers. Breathing with her. Altering the elements. Shifting his weight. Moving into position to replace his fingers with the painful part of him.

She had to somehow absorb it...

He didn’t give her any time!

She stiffened for the barest moment against remembered hurt…and felt nothing but heat and pressure and hard strength. And then a hint of the same sensory pleasure she’d just experienced. It sparked into being, and then flamed into breath-stealing reality. And at its core was Gillian. Filling her. Again and again, their movements rocking the bedstead beneath them. Stronger. Deeper. Creating a commotion within her, and then ratcheting everything higher. Faster. Taking her right to the precipice and then sending her over it

Helene careened into wonder, her cries filled with joy
as
exquisite torment tore through her, grabbing onto her and taking her into a realm that had solid bliss at its center. Gil had been grinning,
his blue eyes so filled with warmth she could see it even after she slammed her eyes shut. Her heart hammered in her ears. Her mind careened into clouds. Heaven. Complete ecstasy. And still he moved, matching his thrusts to the mews of sound she made. The wonder ebbed. Her body finished shuddering. She opened her eyes…and his gaze was there to catch her.

And then he winked, dropped a kiss to her nose, hooked an arm about her, and rolled. The bed swayed, the mattress shifted, and then everything righted, only she was astride him, with all sorts of reactions happening from where they were connected. Helene stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed. And he wasn’t any help. Everything felt sensitive and odd and tinged with new experiences, while her limbs rocked and swayed and shivered.

He bucked slightly up into her, and that sensation had her gasping and grabbing his shoulders for stability. He did it again.

“Need help?” he asked.

“I…”

The word wasn’t even audible, but his amusement was. And that traveled somehow through his entire frame to reach hers, sending an even more amazing feeling. His hands slid along her legs to her hips, went about her waist, and then he tightened his fingers. That gave him a handhold to lift her, before slamming her back down.

“Oh…
my
!”

The exclamation held pleasure. Surprise. Enjoyment. And a squeal as he did the move again. Lifting her. Slamming her back down. Lifting her…and on the third one, she added her legs to the fray. Meeting him thrust for thrust. They got harder. Faster. To a pounding strength that seemed to lift the bedstead with it. And she wasn’t just crying, it was a solid scream that escaped as absolute fire ignited at her core and spread, rinsing across everything.

And then he joined her, curving upward so he could shove as deeply as the groan that accompanied it. Helene watched, spellbound,
as his body quivered and pulsed beneath her, and then relaxed, dropping both of them back to the mattress and reality.

Helene collapsed atop his chest, and just lay there, existing, rising and falling with his every labored breath, wondering if she’d ever dare to tell him how much she loved him…again.

***

Gillian was strangely distant on the voyage across the
Channel, asking her, at one point, if she was considering leaping
overboard, because she spent so much time at the rail.