Leslie Lafoy (12 page)

“Thank you. I designed it myself.”

“A woman of many talents,” he said, smiling down into sparkling eyes as he undid the last button. He was wondering what talents she had that he’d yet to discover when she lifted her arms ever so slightly, wiggled her hips and showed him.

If he’d been an old man, or one not used to a strenuous life, the delight would have stopped his heart. As it was, his skipped several beats before it slammed hard into his rib cage and began to race.

“And truly exceptional understanding,” he whispered in amazement. And in deep, breathtaking appreciation for her creative talent. Her creative, utterly wanton talent.

There was no chemise to obscure the realization that he’d never in his life seen anything so decadently inviting as the white thing that functioned—in a sinfully transparent
way—as a corset. As far as he could tell, its sole purpose was to hold in place several short strips of curved whalebone whose sole purpose was to hold her perfectly round breasts up for proper adoration.

“Understanding of what, Drayton?”

His gaze slowly skimmed downward over the white ribbon lacing that held the thing closed. Down over the gentle pillow of her bare abdomen to the small triangle of blond curls to the sheer white stockings gartered high on her shapely thighs.

“Men,” he said, offering his hand to help her step out of the satin puddle at her feet. The spark of creativity that flashed through his mind was a pale one compared to those she apparently had, but there was potential in it. He drew her around to the short, flat-topped traveling chest the porter had placed at the foot of his bed. She stepped up onto it obediently and then allowed him to turn her to face him. Just as he’d thought it would, the adjustment for their height differences put all of her within easy reach.

“Perfect,” he declared, releasing her hand to unbutton his jacket, strip it off and toss it on the end of the bed behind her.

“I think,” she said, setting to work on undoing his tie, “that it’s more an understanding of what men appreciate.”

A keen understanding. He put his hands on her waist as she began working on getting the studs removed from his shirtfront. “If you’d turn your imagination to the design of men’s clothes, we could both be appreciative at once.”

“I’ll work on it,” she said, letting her fingers work on their own as she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Are you willing to be my model?”

“Would that mean that I’d have to let you undress me several times a day?”

“At least a dozen,” she replied, a wicked little smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Perfection is rarely achieved on the first fitting.”

He slid his hands slowly downward, caressing the satin curve of her hips. “Would you be dressed like this every time?”

“I could catch my death of cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he promised, moving his hands up and back to explore the curves of her backside. “Are you chilled now?”

Her breath caught. “Not in the least,” she whispered, her voice throaty as her fingers slowed and the light in her eyes deepened.

Ah, so easily pleased.
He dragged in a lungful of air and reminded himself that distracting her would only delay the shedding of his clothing. He moved his hands back to her waist and left them there. With a motion of his head, he indicated the dress on the floor behind him and asked, “Do you make gowns like that for other women?”

She sighed, smiled at him, and went back to a more diligent effort on his studs, saying, “I’ve tried, but everyone seems to prefer to go around dressed like onions. Layer upon layer upon layer.”

“Surely brides beat paths to your door.”

“Actually, not,” she replied, tugging his shirt from his trousers. “Brides are usually skittish things. They want twice as many layers as matrons do.”

And some of them, from the tales of woe he’d heard, kept adding the layers. Clearly his Caroline enjoyed wearing as few of them as she possibly could. If only he’d known that this morning in the carriage. “Just out of curiosity . . . The brown thing you were wearing earlier today, is it constructed in the same way?”

“All of my outfits are,” she supplied to his delight as she turned slightly to take his left wrist in hand. “I’m not an onion.”

“No, you aren’t,” he agreed, placing his hands on her creamy shoulders so that she could dispose of his cuff links. He’d have preferred to put his hands on her breasts, but since that would distract and slow her . . . He moistened his lower lip with his tongue. “Do you design corsets like this one for other women?”

“For some reason, they prefer more utilitarian structures,” she explained, meeting his gaze as she blindly tossed his cuff links onto his jacket. “I’ve never been able to fathom why. They’re hideously uncomfortable.”

“And not the least bit inspiring,” he added as she slipped her hands under his shirt and over his shoulders to push the linen aside.

“Are you inspired?” she asked softly, ever-so-knowingly, as he dropped his arms and let the shirt fall to the floor next to her gown.

She leisurely trailed a fingertip down the center of his chest. “I’ve been inspired since late this afternoon,” he confessed, his body aching from the sweet torture. “Acutely so since you walked into the dining room this evening.”

“I thought you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” he said tightly as she tantalized the skin along the top edge of his trousers. “And just as a point of information? I’ve been painfully inspired since that dress puddled on the floor.”

She grinned. “In other words, you wish I’d hurry?”

“And a very perceptive woman, too.” He caught her hand and stepped away from her touch, saying, “Stay right where you are.”

Caroline fingered the ends of her corset lacing as she watched him strip off his shoes. “I gather, since you haven’t made a move to pull the ribbon, that you’d prefer for me to leave the corset on?”

“If you don’t mind,” he said, flashing her a crooked smile as he unbuttoned his pants. “I like it and it won’t be in my way.”

Oh, he was absolutely magnificent. “And the stockings?” she asked, her knees weakening as the heat inside her arrowed to her core.

“They’re not going to be in my way, either.”

He stepped in front of her and wrapped her in his arms. The feel of him pressed hard against the length of her . . . “One would think that you’re suddenly out of patience,” she murmured, twining her arms around his neck as the tide of wanting spilled out of her.

“Imagine that,” he laughed as his hands slipped down to cup her bottom.

The gasp of her approval was lost in her moan of surrender as he captured her mouth with his and laid waste to every hope of reserve. She strained into him, consumed with need and driven to demand that he satisfy it. Now. This instant. Before she died of wanting.

He groaned as she deepened their kiss and drew her leg up the outside of his. Powerless to resist, he promised himself command later and lifted her up to mate them in a single swift thrust. The pleasure was intensely immediate, exquisite and mind-numbing. His knees quaked as it shot through him, leaving him frozen, hard and deep inside her, and gasping for control.

“Oh, God,” he moaned against her throat as her body tightened around his length and the scent of hot sandalwood
enveloped him. And then she shifted, crying softly as she rocked her hips against his, and there was suddenly nothing in the world but satisfying his own urgent need.

Breathless with desperation, Caroline whimpered as he adjusted his hold on her and turned away from the bed. Fearing that he intended to slow their pace, she took his face between her hands. “Please, Drayton,” she pleaded as his hardened dark gaze lifted to meet hers. “Now. Right now.”

A low growl rolled up his throat and past his lips. Still holding his face, she closed her eyes, lowered her head and kissed him, pouring every measure of her hunger into him. He moaned and the sound rippled slowly through her and then was obliterated by a torrent of surging pleasure. She lifted her mouth from his to gasp up at the ceiling in sheer delight.

Drayton watched her face as he pressed her back hard against the low armoire, bent his knees, slowly withdrew, then straightened to thrust upward again. She gasped again, quivered around him, and threw her arms out and up to grasp the wooden ledge just above her head.

Her slight weight left his hands, and free of the need to hold her upright, he grasped her hips as he drew back and then filled her again. And again and again, meeting her hard and plunging deep each time, reveling in her unstinted passion and the quake of his swiftly coming release.

Their rhythm quickening, her panting growing faster, he slipped one arm around her waist and reached up with the other to take a taut nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger. “Now, Caroline?”

She moaned and he obliged her, squeezing as he drove upward and pulled her hard against him and held her there. Her release came in that instant, her head thrown
back as a gasping cry rolled up her throat and her body jerked in his grasp. He closed his eyes and surrendered his will to overriding sensation—her womb clasping him, squeezing him, and drawing him deeper and over the edge of his own exploding oblivion.

Her senses drowsy with the sweetest satisfaction, Caroline sagged in contentment, unable to summon either the strength or concern to keep herself from falling. She smiled as Drayton wrapped her in his arms and drew her close as he settled her gently on her feet. Sighing, she nuzzled her cheek in the crisp hair of his chest.

“Do I need to apologize?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I can’t imagine what for.”

“That was a bit quick and a little rough.”

She grinned. “Did you hear me protest?”

“No.”

It took considerable effort, but she lifted her head to smile up at him. “Then it must have been to my complete satisfaction.”

He laughed and hugged her. “You’re a most uncommon woman.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s utterly delightful,” he said, bending just enough to swoop her up in his arms and carry her off to his bed.

CAROLINE BREATHED DEEPLY THE SCENT OF MALE SKIN
, then opened her eyes and lifted her head from Drayton Mackenzie’s shoulder. Pale light gilded the edges of the draperies. Slowly and gently, she slipped away from his side and out of his bed.

Her clothing gathered up and draped over her arm, she paused at the door between his room and hers, and turned
back. He lay sprawled out on the bed, uncovered, and looking sinfully, thoroughly spent. She smiled, remembering the delights they’d given each other. And boldly taken, too, she had to admit.

She tilted her head and arched a brow. How very different it had been with Drayton. With Peter, making love had been an affair of the heart. Passionate, yes, but in a tender and soul-touching way. With Drayton . . . What an amazing thing sex was when there was no love involved. Purely physical, purely in the pursuit of your own body-racking pleasure and knowing that it was just for that one night . . . She’d had no idea that pleasure could be so intense, so . . . She grinned.
Inspiring.

She didn’t know what it said about her that she’d cast all reserve to the wind and not only surrendered to, but fully explored, every carnal impulse that had come over her. And him. She certainly didn’t regret it; she’d never felt this physically sated and content in all her life. But it hadn’t been a wise thing to do, and good sense mandated that she not let it happen again.

Turning away, she slipped out of his bedroom. The duke’s bedroom, she realized as she closed the door softly behind her. The women of her line definitely seemed to be drawn to high-ranking peers. Unlike her mother, though, she’d had the good fortune of having the opportunity arise when the timing of her courses would spare her any lasting consequences.

GOD, HIS FOREHEAD FELT HALF A METER THICK. AND THE
pounding behind it . . . He groaned and pulled a pillow over his face to shield himself from the light trying to burn its way through his eyelids. Sandalwood? Did he smell—

He bolted upright and looked around the bed, his head splitting with pain and his heart pounding. The sheets were a twisted disaster, but he was decidedly alone in them. Easing back down, he laid his forearm across his eyes and groaned as the memories flooded his mind.

Jesus Christ. What had he done? What had he been thinking? He groaned again as the answers bludgeoned his conscience. He hadn’t been thinking at all. And what he’d done was soak his brain in wine and then leave it in the dining room to come upstairs to make mad, intensely, gloriously passionate love with Caroline. All night long.

And while some of the finer details of his various performances were lost in the haze of alcoholic perception, he could remember quite clearly enough to know that while he’d done a lot of things during the night, taking a French letter from his bags hadn’t been one of them. He’d been as stupid, selfish, and recklessly irresponsible as a man could ever be.

There was only one thing to do in the aftermath, of course. He’d marry her and make everything right. If she was pregnant, they’d just have to tell everyone that the child was early and hope it was small enough for the lie to be plausible. And if not, well, it certainly wouldn’t be the first eight-month, hefty baby in the history of England.

Yes, it was the honorable thing to do. He’d get up, bathe, shave, make himself as presentable as a complete moral reprobate could hope to look, and then go to her. He’d hold her hand and apologize profusely—in a manly sort of way—for having first intoxicated her and then thoroughly and repeatedly compromised her.

No, he mentally corrected himself. Ravaged. He’d say that he’d ravaged her. While it wasn’t strictly true because, as he recalled it all, she’d been a very willing—and
active—participant, taking all the blame on himself for what had happened would be noble. And God knew he needed to create all the positive light for himself that he could.

And while he was amending the plan . . . There was no need to mention the thoroughly and repeatedly part. It was bad enough to have done what he had even once. Not that the experience itself had been bad, of course. Sex with Caroline had been nothing short of mind-searingly spectacular. Which was why there had been a repeatedly. But it probably wasn’t something she wanted to hear at this juncture. No, she’d be trying to drown herself in remorseful, guilty tears when he found her. The last thing he needed to do was make matters any worse than they already were.