Elizabeth Elliott (24 page)

A low growl filled the air, a warning of the beast she stirred to life inside him, one that intended to claim her as its prey. He had never made such a sound in his life. It should have terrified her. Amazingly, she didn’t seem to notice. Her tongue darted between his lips in the same sensual play he had just taught her. He let her have her way as long as he could withstand the provocative invitation, then he returned her thrust and dominated once more. Her hands moved over his shoulders and back as if searching for something she could not find. He knew what she searched for, what her body sought by instinct. He vowed to deny his own needs until she found that magical place. Her hands clutched at his shirt as if she meant to rip it from him, and he heard himself groan again. She was a passionate creature, his Claudia.

His Claudia
. She was truly his now, would always be his. He hoped the thought would help cool his blood. That didn’t happen. She began to tug at his shirt again. He reached behind his neck to grab a handful of the shirt and pulled it over his head, vexed that he had to break off their kiss to do so.

Their gazes met, and he saw a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes. He waited for her to brace her hands against his chest, to protest his unbridled urgency. Her hands went instead to the laces at the side of the gown, her fingers made clumsy by their trembling. She made a small sound of frustration, then gave up the effort. Her arms wrapped around his
neck, pulling him down to her sweet, waiting lips for a kiss that made the soles of his feet tingle.

He had braced himself for hours of wooing and seducing. Her passionate response aroused him more than he had thought possible. He was the one being seduced. She responded to him as if she were starved for his touch, answering each caress with a sigh or small moan of pleasure. It suddenly occurred to him that she had been deprived for years of even the smallest show of love or affection. Little wonder that she craved his touch, that her hunger manifested itself in her passion. The knowledge only made him more determined to make up for those years of loneliness, to cherish her. He had to regain control of his senses to do either. His lips moved to the slender column of her neck, unable to resist his own need to place a sensuous kiss at the base of her throat before he drew away and braced himself on his elbows above her. “Claudia, I—”

She shook her head, her eyes frantic. “Do not leave me.”

Her fear battered at his resolve. He had to comfort her. What he had in mind was not the comfort she needed. She was a virgin. He had to remember that fact and not confuse her need for love with his own need, his own lust. She whispered one final entreaty. “Please.”

His hand already worked at the fastenings of his breeks, before he realized what he was doing. Even as his mind told his body to stop he freed them both of their garments just enough to fit himself to her, the hard steel of his flesh craddled against the very softest part of her.

He had spent the last four days planning this moment, sure in the knowledge that he would give her every pleasure imaginable. His hips circled against hers and his lovemaking very nearly ended then and there. Sweet saints, he could not do that again.

“Claudia.” Her name was almost a plea, yet he knew that she could no longer stop him, even if she had a mind to. Nothing could stop him. Not unless one could die from too
much pleasure. It seemed a possibility. His heart beat so hard that he expected it to burst from his chest.

He managed to focus his gaze on her face, to watch the play of emotions there: shock, desire, innocence, and awe. He wondered if his own thoughts were as transparent, even as she began to nod. He meant to ask her if that gesture was mere coincidence, or if she truly knew what he was thinking. She arched her hips, mimicking his movements. He whispered his own final entreaty. “Forgive me, love.”

Her body was a miracle of welcoming warmth and virginal resistance. He wanted to shout his joy. He wanted to murmur sweet endearments. He couldn’t speak a word.

Her nails bit into his shoulders when he met the proof of her innocence and that small flash of pain cut through the last tattered shreds of his control. He drove into her, feeling as if he were the one untried, driven by his eagerness to make his possession of her complete.

Her soft, feminine cry set him on fire. The incredibly tight sheath of her body was made for his. He held himself as still and unmoving as stone, hovering on the very edge of sweet oblivion. She held him, gripped him, in small reflexive movements that made him dizzy.

He did no more than arch his hips against hers and his world collapsed. His body moved beyond his control, slow, smooth strokes that were both beginning and end. He squeezed his eyes shut and watched one star after another explode in the darkness. It seemed to go on forever.

It ended so abruptly that he almost collapsed on top of her.

11

G
uy opened his eyes and discovered Claudia staring back at him. Somehow he had managed to roll onto his back, and she now lay on top of him. Rather than relax against his chest as he hoped she would, she had braced herself on her arms to gaze down at him. Her elbows dug painfully into his ribs. More disturbing than that, she looked shocked. He dimly recalled a shout, and sincerely hoped it was nothing blasphemous. At the moment he didn’t have the strength to apologize for anything, not for the swift loss of her virginity, or the abrupt end of their lovemaking. As soon as his heart started to beat again, he would reassure her that everything would be much different next time, that he could indeed be patient and gentle.

She began to slide toward his side and his grip on her hips tightened. “Give me a moment, love. Just rest now.”

“I cannot,” she said, her voice oddly strained. “My skirt is trapped beneath you.”

He felt her tug on the garment and realized she was right. With her skirt pulling her one way, his hands and body the other, she could not be the least bit comfortable. He turned to his side and gently separated their bodies. She lowered her lashes and started to rearrange her skirts. Those small, fluttering movements brought a wave of realization.

“Christ.”
He hadn’t even undressed her.

Her quick, darting glance made him realize that he had spoken aloud. The glimpse of pain and uncertainty in those emerald depths made him scowl. So much for cherishing her, for letting her touch and caress him to her heart’s content. He waited for her to look up at him again, but she kept her
eyes hidden beneath the thick fringe of her lashes. He had just found more pleasure with her than he had known possible. Claudia looked ready to cry.

Guy scowled as he rearranged his own clothing. He had taken enough women to his bed to know his skill as a lover, yet he had failed to please the woman he wanted to please most. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t recall failing at anything that truly mattered. Until now. He had never lost control so completely. What did she do to him? “This did not happen as I planned, Claudia. Forgive me.”

Her lashes lifted and she gave him a puzzled look. “You are sorry we made love?”

“Nay, of course not. I am only sorry that—” He pressed his lips together. It occurred to him that she was still inexperienced in the ways of men. She wouldn’t have any idea what he was talking about if he tried to explain his regrets. “Never mind. We will have that discussion another time. I would rather hear how you feel. Did I hurt you?”

A deep blush turned her cheeks the color of roses. “ ’Twas not so bad.”

A smile tugged at his lips and he placed his hand on her waist for a small caress. “A man lives on tenterhooks, waiting for the day he will hear his betrothed say his lovemaking was not so bad.”

She stiffened beneath his hand and the glow in her cheeks faded. “I would rather you did not jest of our false betrothal.”

“I said nothing in jest.” Guy mentally kicked himself. Nothing had gone as he planned since his return. Nay, since he met her. Still, his voice softened as he spoke the words he had intended to say before he left Montague. “We are betrothed in truth, Claudia. I will not set our betrothal aside, nor will I set
you
aside. We will be married as soon as I can make the arrangements with Montague’s priest.”

He waited patiently for one of her beautiful smiles. She had wanted marriage from the start. This news would make her smile for a week.

Claudia frowned. “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed. “You want a reason?”

“Aye.” Claudia wanted to be certain she heard him right. She was stunned as much by his sudden declaration as by what just transpired between them. She had known from the beginning that lovemaking would only deepen her feelings for Guy, and strengthen the bond between them. He possessed her, body and soul. She belonged to him as she would never belong to another. Did he feel the same sense of completion?

Something instinctive told her this was not a decision he had made in the throes of passion. Wariness fast replaced wonder. “Under the circumstances, a reason for your sudden change of heart seems a sensible request.”

“There was nothing sudden about it,” he said defensively. “I gave the matter a great deal of thought these past four days. It never occurred to me that you would demand an accounting of my decision.” He arched one brow. “By law, I am accountable to none but God and the king.”

“What reason do you intend to give God and your king?” Claudia could almost see his mind work fast and furious behind his mask of arrogance. He was trying to think up a good lie. She gave him an expectant look and waited.

“I thought you would be happy.” He sounded downright sullen. “You made it very clear that you would rather be my wife than my mistress.”

“I would rather have lovely blond hair than this mousy brown, but I should also have a question or two should that amazing change ever come about.”

“Who dared compare your hair to a mouse?”

“I did.” She released an impatient sigh. “You are trying to distract me from my questions, Baron.”

“Guy,” he prompted.

“Very well, Guy. Why this sudden wish to marry a woman who was not fit to bear your illustrious name just four days ago?” She propped herself up on one elbow to look down at him. “And have you considered that I might have no wish to marry into a family that will hate me?”

Guy rose onto his elbow as well. “You
will
marry me. No matter the reasons. Your uncle named me your betrothed, and that gives me the right to name you my wife. I will not relinquish that right to any man who happens along, nor let any other man have what is mine.”

“There seem to be no other men who want me,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I want you.” He gave her a look that dared her to argue that fact. “As I tend to have excellent tastes, you may be certain there are others who want you as well.”

Her gaze moved over his face feature by feature, from the set angle of his jaw to the lowered storm of his brow. She wondered how many people he had terrified with this expression. It had the opposite affect on her. How strange that his anger could make her feel protected and safe. Stranger still that she would like nothing more than to smooth his troubled brow with gentle kisses. She shook her head. He could distract her without speaking a word. “So you would marry me because you are a possessive man, and you view me as a possession?”

“I said nothing of the sort,” he retorted. “You make a habit of twisting my words.”

“I did not twist anything. You cited no reasons other than possessiveness,” she pointed out, then she waited again for some other explanation. Guy remained stubbornly silent. He was hiding something from her. Something important. Then it came to her, the only reason he would suddenly wish to marry her. “You found out about Halford.”

He gave her a sharp glance. “What did I find out about Halford?”

“You know well enough.” Her chest felt as if something very heavy pressed against it. She wondered if he had received a missive from his king. Uncle Laurence had worried that it was only a matter of time before Guy discovered the truth. And now he had. A small glimmer of hope that she hadn’t even known existed died inside her. “Just as I know why I am suddenly fit to be your wife.”

“What are you babbling about?”

She searched his face for some sign of guile. No wonder he could strike such profitable bargains. He was very good at hiding any trace of guilt he might feel at taking such blatant advantage of her emotions. “How did you find out?”

“I tire of this riddle, Claudia.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the threat was unmistakable. “Explain yourself. Now.”

“Halford Hall,” she said. “You decided to marry me because you learned it was part of my dowry.”

He said nothing for a very long time, his gaze locked with hers, his eyes the color of blue ice. For the first time, she felt a twinge of fear. “You intended to let your uncle sell me something that was not his in the first place?”

“I did not know it was mine,” she protested. Oh, Lord. He hadn’t known. And she had enlightened him at the worst possible moment. “I learned of my dowry the same day I overheard my uncle’s plot to murder you. My grandfather signed Halford to my mother as part of her dowry, and she, in turn, to me. Uncle Laurence hoped to gain your gold before you learned the truth.”