Embracing Ashberry (28 page)

“Thank you,” she bit her lip, trying to not
think of how his eyes seemed to focus on her. Inside, she looked at
him, perhaps for the first time in many days. His hair was slicked
back, fastened behind him, the red in it complemented by the light
of the lamps. He wore dark gray breeches and a dark green coat, the
pristine white of the shirt below accented with a cravat. His nose
flared when her hands slid up his lapels to rest on his shoulders
and his lips, neither heavy nor thin, separated just slightly. She
found the courage after just a few moments, after she saw the
yellow flecks she now knew to be a reflection of his desire.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

The craving that flashed through him nearly
made his knees buckle. He could hardly even nod his reply, his
mouth sinking toward hers, capturing her lips as one arm slid
around her waist and drew her against him, the other moving to cup
the back of her neck in his hand, lifting her face to meet his.

Ellie’s feet came off the floor as she was
drawn up against him, his hands warm and insistent. Helplessly, she
clutched his shoulders, giving her mouth, offering it to him. The
sensation of being off the floor, the burning of their lips that
spiraled through her blood, the security she felt when he held her
so tightly against him—all these combined to excite and reassure
Ellie. Thus comforted, she smiled serenely when he broke the kiss
and lowered her to the floor, both sets of eyes fixed on the other.
Despite her short breath, despite the nervous awareness that
tingled through her, Ellie knew she would not turn back.

Ashberry was quiet as they dined. When the
meal was over, he looked at her regretfully. “I have a little
business to take care of, my dear, before we leave the Chase.”

Ellie shrugged a little, knowing his eyes
followed the ringlet that bounced off her shoulder. “Can’t I join
you?” she asked.

He drew a deep breath, hiding his grimace.
“I suppose so. Aren’t you exhausted?” He hoped she would be sleepy,
but she seemed more alive than he’d ever seen her, her eyes
sparkling and soft as they rested on him.

She shrugged again, playing with the ribbon
dangling from her top. “No, not yet,” she said, hope in her
eyes.

Ashberry gritted his teeth and clamped his
flaring imagination under a black cloud. “I don’t see why not,” he
finally murmured, his voice a little short. “You’ll understand if
I’m working?”

“Of course,” she smiled, understanding more
than he had intended.

It required some effort on her part but
Ellie managed to ignore him completely, wandering through the room
to study each painting, peruse the book titles. Only furtively,
when his pen scratched on the parchment before him, did Ellie peek
on his head bent over the desk and his strong hands as he framed
his letters.

It was Ashberry who couldn’t concentrate on
the notes on the desk, the missives he was writing to his brother,
Edward and St. James. His mind and gaze kept wandering to his wife,
who finally settled herself in a chair by the fire. When she
slipped her feet onto the footstool, shoes off and the soles
stretched toward the flames as she curled her toes to capture the
warmth, he nearly doubled over in agony.

When he could tolerate no more, he laid his
pen on the blotter and spoke. “Ellie, why don’t you go up? I’ll be
along in a few minutes.” She turned to look at him, surprise in her
face, until he said, “We have a long day tomorrow and this will be
the last high-quality bed we’ll sleep in until we arrive home.”

Ellie nodded slowly, hardly discomfited by
his effort to remove her from his presence. As much as he did, she
knew that he struggled with restraining his desires and, in truth,
she understood more. He did not yet understand that she no longer
wished him to completely check his impulses and so Ellie rose
gracefully from the chair, bending over to find her slippers and
slide into them before gliding to the desk. For once hoping that
she had invoked his urges, she leaned over the desk, until
Ashberry’s eyes could see her nipples pressed against the white
silk, until her quiet voice commanded his attention and drew his
eyes to her face.

“I’ll tell Griffin you’ll be up momentarily,
then,” she said softly, pressing her lips to his mouth briefly.

The short caress nearly killed him, and he
gripped the chair tightly, cursing under his breath. He would have
to go at least as far as the dressing room now, but after he
dismissed the man he could remain in the sitting or dressing room
until he was sure she was asleep.

The lady before him said nothing else, just
turned and sashayed away, until he was sure her hips turned
slightly more than was natural. He was beginning to think that he’d
die before they arrived at Ashberry Park, and he forced himself to
think grimly of the grisly side of life until his blood cooled.

Despite her obvious attempt to get him into
the bedroom before she slept, he gave Ellie plenty of time before
he blew out the lamps in the library and damped the fire back. His
boots were purposeful on the stairs, quiet thuds as he strode down
the corridor and into the sitting room. Griffin just shook his head
at the grim look on his lord’s face, wisely keeping his mouth
closed for the first time in a decade. When he waved the man away
impatiently, Griffin did not hesitate, turning and fleeing the
room. Ashberry scowled in his looking glass, pouring himself a
glass of brandy and staring out the window into the forest, giving
his body no quarter. He pressed himself against the chilly glass,
swallowing his drink with hardly more than a few seconds of
consideration.

Unbeknownst to him, Ellie quietly locked the
door between the corridor and their sitting room. Her feet silent
on the rugs, she passed through her dressing room and into the
chamber they would share, taking a deep breath as she looked at the
bed. She had drawn back the blankets to air the clean sheets,
fluffing the pillows against the headboard. Her chin determined,
she grasped her hairbrush in her hand and made her way to the
opposite side of the chamber.

Ashberry nearly dropped the glass in his
hand when the door to the bedchamber opened. He managed to set it
down, his hands shaking. Ellie said nothing, but stepped through
the door, her eyes fixed on him. “I, I thought—” she started, then
began again, “Would, would you brush my hair?”

She held out the brush, as if it was
incontrovertible evidence of her intentions. Ashberry barely saw
it. The only evidence he saw was all over her. Her hair curled over
her shoulders and around her face, beckoning him. The golden robe
he had given her hung open, the silk nightgown beneath it hardly
enough to be called a gown at all. It clung to her curves like a
second diaphanous skin, flattering her breasts and shaping her
hips, flaring out below her knees, its hem swirling above her
ankles. The material was so thin, he noted almost absently, that
her nipples not only stood out against the fabric but the darker
aureoles around them were visible as well. Her toes, inherently
feminine, were bare, curled into the carpet as she stepped
hesitantly before him, just out of reach.

“Ellie?” The word was strangled, broken in
the room.

She paused, but came a step closer, close
enough for him to reach her if he stretched out his hands. “You are
right,” she whispered. “I didn’t come in here for that.” She laid
her brush on his dressing table, her eyes on him, an unfamiliar
glint in her own.

He steeled his body, refusing to hope,
refusing to assume he could translate the tenderness on her face.
“Why then?” he whispered, clutching at the window frame.

Her eyes held him, promised him. “You said,
you said I should come to you,” Ellie faltered slowly. “When I was
ready,” she finished, after a long minute passed.

The marquess did not breathe but he did
finally step away from the window, to stand just in front of her.
He watched the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the gown before
cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Are you?” he asked, giving her a
final opportunity to back away. “Ellie, once I touch you, hold you,
you can’t—I, I couldn’t bear it if you changed your mind.”

Ellie’s hands rose, covering his over her
cheeks. She drew them away from her face and slowly lowered them to
her belly, pressing his fingers against her there. “Can you feel
them?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he nearly groaned, the tips of his
fingers finding the raised ridges below the gown. They weren’t
nearly as commanding as her warmth, her scent. His fingers curled
against her, hoping to capture more of those special blessings.
“You are so warm.”

“Stephen, I, I was afraid that first night,
not because I was frightened of you or even that you might hurt me,
but because I was afraid that I, that my scars would repulse you.
And I couldn’t bear it if they did, if you turned away from me for
that reason because I, I wanted, I want to please you so much.”

Her words were breathless as she guided his
hands up over the gown, until he cupped her torso below her
breasts, until his thumbs traced the ridges he still felt beneath
the silk. “But I know now they will not, that you will not.” Her
hands left his and touched his robe at the neck, fingering the
cashmere as she smiled at him, a brilliant smile. “So I want you to
teach me how to please you, how to show you how, how alive I feel
when you touch me, when you hold me, when we kiss.”

Ashberry’s hands slid behind her, hardly
fathoming the soft confidence in her voice let alone her words. He
allowed them to sink into him, to be digested later, as his palms
found the way between her gown and robe. He drew her against him,
one hand slowly sliding down. Her eyes closed when his hand found
its way over the curve of her bottom and cupped her there, pressing
her against him.

“Ah, Ellie,” he murmured, laying his mouth
in her hair, immersing himself in the touch and smell of her. “You
already know how to show me, and you’ve been telling me all night
you were ready, I was just afraid to listen.”

Ellie held her breath until he released her.
She gasped with surprise when his hands moved to her shoulders and
slid the robe from them, letting it fall to the floor, baring her
arms and shoulders. When he lifted her into his arms, Ashberry
cradled her against him and without any more words, carried her
into their chamber.

THIRTEEN

Ellie was surprised when he didn’t take her
to the bed. Instead, he sat in the armchair by the fire, holding
her on his lap. He lifted one of her fingers to his lips and kissed
the pad, then repeated the caress on her other four digits before
pressing his lips into her palm. When he trailed small kisses from
her wrist over her inner arm to her inner elbow, Ellie sunk against
him, until her free hand held onto his robe for dear life. His lips
wandered higher still, to her shoulder, where his tongue traced the
flimsy strap of cloth that held her nightgown in place.

When she gasped, he chuckled deeply,
continuing to taste the skin around her collarbone.

Ellie shifted achingly on his lap, hardly
knowing what to ask for, what she needed. Instead, she shivered
when he drew the strap down her arm until she lifted her hand
through it. Never once did Ashberry break the contact of his mouth
to her skin, and he reverently held the gown in place even though a
shrug of her shoulders would have had it falling over her
breasts.

Ellie watched his head, fascinated, as his
kisses daringly edged downward, to where the curves of her breasts
just came together. She wondered if she might touch him and didn’t
know where, but without much thought drew her second arm from its
strap, her stomach wondering fleetingly how far his kisses would
venture.

With one arm around her stomach and his hand
hard against her hip, his second arm was braced around her back to
support her spine as she arched helplessly against his mouth. His
hand splayed against her ribs, Ashberry raised his head. Her mouth
was open, her need in her eyes, and without further thought, his
mouth came against hers. The kiss seared them both, and Ashberry’s
body stiffened in tense anxiety when her hands rose to cup his face
in her hands, her thumbs pressed against his cheeks.

“Should I touch you?” she whispered against
his mouth, drawing back.

The savage sound in his throat was hardly
laughter. “Dear Lord, yes, touch me,” he ground out, shifting her
so that her bottom was cradled between his legs. He laid her back
against his arm, cupping her head against his elbow and resting his
hand on the outside of her shoulder. With his free hand, he traced
the features of her face and then lower, until he fingered the
fabric still draped carefully over her breasts. Ashberry felt
Ellie’s hand against his chest, not pushing him away, but simply
for support and after a heartbeat passed he felt her other hand
reach behind her and grasp the hand that cupped her shoulder.

When he drew the fabric away, down just far
enough to bare her breasts, Ashberry smiled at her tenderly, for
Ellie’s eyes still held the final hints of anxiety. Reverently, he
traced the curves with his thumb, his eyes on the pertness of her,
the way she shimmered in the dim light. He drew his palm over the
side of her softness, watching as she trembled. “You are exquisite,
Ellie,” he whispered, his hand finally cupping her nipple against
his palm, squeezing her tenderly.

“Thank you,” she managed modestly, arching
into his hand. Her untutored reaction sent a spiral of thrill
through him.

“Do you like this?” he asked softly,
pressing his thumb to her other nipple until she gasped and he felt
it harden.

“I, I think so,” she breathed honestly.
Ashberry smiled, the smile of a man on an amorous mission. While
his hand released her fingers and turned against her shoulder to
hold her still, the other framed her breast between his thumb and
index finger.