DD-Michaels-END.rtf (19 page)

"Then there will be no more talk of marriage, I promise. And that's a bleeding shame, Morgan Becket, because you'd make a magnificent countess," Ethan told her, slowly closing the distance between them until he could slip his arms around her waist.

Morgan's involuntary cry was silenced by Ethan's mouth as they all but attacked each othe
r
—
g
rasping, holding..
.
grinding themselves together as the passion neither of them had ever denied concentrated on the here and now, scattering the next moment, the next days, the past and the future to the four winds.

They kissed and kissed, their mouths open, their tongues dueling
......
and it wasn't enough.

Ethan slipped his hands beneath the jacket of her riding habit and cupped her breasts. Squeezed. Stroked. And it wasn't enough.

Morgan let instinct take her, passion take her, as she pressed her lower body against his, felt a tightening, a sweet burning between her legs, gloried in his hardness straining against her hip.

And it wasn't enough.

"Sweet God..
.
sweet Jesus," Ethan breathed against her ear as his passion, and her response to it, threatened to take him past rational thought.

Still holding her, Ethan sank to his knees, then laid her back on the deep carpet of last autumn's leaves, his hands almost immediately busy on the frog closings of her jacket, even as she raised her head, took small, nibbling bites of the skin just above his shirt points.

Chance Becket be damned. All of the Beckets be damned. All of society's conventions, society itself, be damned.

Morgan's hands were on Ethan's chest now, her fingers struggling with the buttons of his shirt, managing to open three of them before slipping inside, to burn her fingertips on his overheated skin.

She smiled in triumph when Ethan outwitted the last of the closings on her jacket, then she sucked in her breath as she felt him unlacing her shift, cried out in pleasure when she felt his hand close over one bared breast.

Ethan's breathing was labored, nearly painful as he lowered his head, took her nipple into his mouth even as she began a soft, sweet mewling in her throat.

And it wasn't enough....

Morgan bent
her knees, bracing her booted feet against the ground as she raised her hips, her body seeking something she couldn't understand, but knew to be missing.

"Please," she whispered against his neck as he laid his palm low on her belly, pressed his heat against her, setting small fires inside her.

Anything. He'd do anything for her, everything to her. Take her places she'd never been, show her worlds she'd never known.

Make her his. Now and forever, his.

Ethan raised his head slightly as he reached down, found the hem of the generously wide, divided skirt of her riding habit.

He looked at her, his chest heaving, watched hers as it, too, rapidly rose and fell.

Encouraged by her reaction to him, he inched his hand past her high riding boot, to encounter the soft silk of her drawers.

Morgan wet her lips with her tongue, then swallowed hard over the thick knot of passion in her throat. "Ethan...
y
es..."

He closed his eyes for a moment, then slid his hand higher, along the soft skin of her thigh. Bent and kissed the valley between her breasts. Raised his head once more. Looked at her. Waited.

Morgan lifted her hips from the ground because it felt so right to do that. "Please..."

He first skimmed over her silk-covered belly, only slowly moving down, so that he could insinuate his thumb between her legs, keeping the pressure of his hand low on her, easing her hips back down to the ground as he told her with his touch that, no, he wouldn't leave, wouldn't stop, wouldn't desert her now.

Morgan looked up at Ethan a
s
his expression became so intense, as his pupils widened, as his very skin seemed to tighten over his cheeks. He seemed so intense...
a
nd she understood that, as she, too, was feeling intense. And intent upon what he was doing to her beneath her skirt, overtop the thin barrier of silk that was all that separated skin from skin.

Ethan levered himself up so that he could now turn his hand, ease his fingers between her legs even as he used his thumb to hold the silk taut against her mound. He had no thought for himself, but only for her. Her pleasure.

Morgan felt the tightness of the thin silk against her sensitive skin, then gasped as Ethan touched her, somehow spreading the silk tightly over her while using one finger to stroke at her very center.

She kept her gaze concentrated on his face, but not without effort, for she longed to close her eyes, to grind the back of her head into the soft carpet of leaves
,
to lift her entire body by pressing her heels into the ground as his finger moved, moved faster, found a part of her she had never known existed.

Up. Up. Yearning, searching for something she couldn't find, but knew was there...
j
ust outside her grasp.

Ethan levered his upper body half over hers and bent to whisper in her ear. She was close now, the silk damp beneath his fingers, and he spread her as best he could as he kept up the friction of his finger against her center.

He couldn't take what he wanted, what he needed. Not yet. Not if he hoped to live with himself afterward.

But
he could give
her what she so longed to experience.

"Give over, Morgan. It only gets better, if you just give over." He moved against her faster, varying the pressure he applied, building the heat between her legs. 'Trust me, let me take you there. Let me take you over. Like this, sweetings," he whispered before covering her mouth with his one more time, driving his tongue into her in the same rhythm as his fingers now moved over her.

He was everywhere. Invading her. The sensations filled her. urging her on.

Morgan arched her back, whimpering as her body grew warm, as her chest tightened...
as her body began its own duel with Morgan's moving fingers; pulsing, pulsing...
p
ulsing.

It was glorious, mind-shattering. A pleasure so great it was almost pain.

And then it was over.

And it wasn't enough....

"Ethan!" Morgan cried out as he held his stilled hand over her. She grabbed at him in a near frenzy of need, pulling him on top of her, digging her fingernails into the fabric of
h
is jacket, pressing quick, wild kisses against his neck, his cheek, still hungry for him, even hungrier than before.

"Morgan, go easy now," Ethan whispered, sliding his hand out from under her skirt so that he could hold her, gentle her, cradle her against him, will his own body back from the brink.

She had to hold him, go on holding him. He was her anchor, the only thing that could keep her from spinning off into the sky, still searching for more... more. "Oh, Go
d
—
E
than."

"Shh, it's all right, it's all right," he told her, stroking her back as he held her. "You'll be all right."

Morgan swallowed hard as her heart slowed its galloping pace, as her breathing evened out...
a
s the hunger and the need settled into something less than terrifyingly intense.

Now she was content to cuddle, to relax inside his embrace, and she sighed, rested her head against his chest.

Ethan smiled ruefully up at the ta
l
l trees surrounding them. "Morgan, that's enough. You may be feeling sated and lazy, but I can assure I am anything but either of those things. Come on, time to put you back together and work on our excuses."

Morgan held on tighter. "I'm
not ever getting up. I'm going to stay here until the both of us are covered in leaves and no one can find us, ever."

"Really. That's a pity, because I asked Jacob if he knew what was in the picnic basket, and he told me there was a lovely portion of Smithfield
ham. So, as I'm a romantic fool only until my stomach puts up a protes
t
—
a
nd remembering how much I like my head on my shou
l
ders
-
r-we really do have to leave here."

"Spoilsport," Morgan grumbled, pushing herself away from him, then searching around on the ground for her shako hat, unmindful and uncaring that her breasts were still exposed to Ethan's gaze.

"For the love o
f
—
M
organ, you'll drive a man insane."

"Only you, Ethan," she said, grinning at him as she raised both hands over her head in order to position the hat at a fetching angle. "Only you."

"Well, then, you'll be happy to know you've been successful, for I don't know where my wits are, but I do know I no longer number them in my possessions, and most probably haven't since the day we met."

"Good," Morgan said, believing she might have accomplished something wonderful.

He took
hold of her hands and pulled her to her feet, then tugged on the laces of her shift and tied them in a bow. He was feeling very proud of himself, of his restraint, but that didn't mean it didn't have limits.
"
There. Now maybe I can think again. Button your jacket, Morgan, and let me brush off your back. You're covered in leaves."

"Yes, I am, aren't I?" Morgan said, trying to look behind herself even as she slipped the knotted frogs into their braided holders. "But I'm sure you'll have a reasonable excuse for
how
I
loo
k
—
a
nd yourself, of course."

"You depend too much on me," Ethan told her, brushing at her skirt, frowning at the darker patches where the damp of the ground had penetrated. "Another ensemble consigned to the dustbin, my dear. Ride out more often with me, and you'll soon have nothing to wear."

"One can only hope," Morgan said, drawing her fingers down his cheek, then pulling a leaf out of his hair. She smiled at him for a moment, then the smile disappeared. "I feel wonderful. But I want more, Ethan, and so do you. Half measures aren't for the likes of us. They only leave us wanting more."

Then she smiled, went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. She felt so free with hi
m
—
n
ot embarrassed, and most certainly not ashamed. If this made her wicked, she'd simply enjoy being wicked. "But you're still glorious."

Ethan watched her walk back through the trees, heading toward the horses. "Glorious? I'm a man in pain, imp," he said quietly, before following after her like the love-starved fool he had concluded he was well on his way to becoming, and not really minding at all. He did, however, worry about his total lack of restraint where Morgan was concerned. "That damn cylinder had better be ready on time, or we'll be standing a shocked and outraged London on its ear yet," he murmured into his neck cloth.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, until they were on one of the many riding paths, and then Ethan dismounted.

Morgan had already agreed that the story he'dmade up out of whole cloth had its merits, but she wasn't too pleased with her part in the tale.

"I still say I should be the one that limps," she said as they began to move once more, Ethan now walking ahead of Alejandro.

"No. It's enough that you fell off your hors
e
—
I
don't need your brother seeing your limp and then thinking you could have as easily broken your neck. It might put him in the mood to snap mine. You fell, yes, but you're not injured."

"He won't believe I fell, you know. I'm a very good rider."

'True, imp," Ethan said, smiling back at her. "But that damn sidesaddle defeated you, correct? Besides, we practiced it that way, remember? Every time you limped, you giggled. Hardly a convincing performance."

Morgan giggled again now. Everything just seemed so delicious, now that she and Ethan had come to their understanding.
"
That's because it's funny. Why should we worry what Jacob and Saul think? It's not as if either one would cry rope on me to Chance in any case. They'd do anything for me, both of them."

Ethan kept walking. "Why, have
you kissed Saul, too?"

She pulled a face at him. "No, I have not kissed Saul, too. I just let him see my ankles when I get in and out of the coach. Maybe a little more than my ankles. My knees. I don't understand why old men are so fascinated with knees. I think they're rather ugly, personally."

"I'll have to see yours before I can make a judgment."

Morgan frowned, realizing he'd been marvelously intimate with her, more than marvelously intimate with her..
.
and yet he hadn't seen her knees. How strange.

"If I can't limp, can I at least walk? I feel silly, riding up here while you walk."