Mistress by Marriage (24 page)
He was seconds away from spilling into her. In the hallway.
Edward dragged himself from her mouth. “Caro, hang on. I’ve got to get you inside.”
“You are inside,” she whispered. “And it feels so good. Please, please don’t stop.”
“I must.” He clung to her fiercely with one arm as he fumbled with the doorknob. It would quite ruin the mood if he dropped her. Slamming the door behind them, he lurched toward the bed, Caro wrapped around him, nipping his lips and driving him wild. Wilder. His skin was on fire. Everywhere. Too many damn clothes on both of them, but there was no time to divest himself of anything but his seed.
He had barely edged them to the bed when she contracted around him, her rippling muscles drawing him up to the tip of her womb. He tipped her backward, strumming her bud as she came apart on the counterpane, her spine curving closer to him, her breasts begging for their release. He tore at her bodice with his free hand, but the wretched dress was impervious to his assault. He settled for kisses to her collarbone, her throat, her swollen pink mouth. He released everything he was into her, riding her to mutual oblivion.
Just for tonight. The waves wouldn’t stop, each thrust and shudder building upon the last until he collapsed mindlessly exhausted onto a heap of clothing and a gasping Caroline. His cock still jerked and her passage still trembled, an echo of the power between them. The thought of withdrawing from her caused him acute pain, but it would be more painful still to keep her skin from his. The bits of her body he could see were slick with sweat and scented with jasmine. He needed to see every inch of her again before she was forbidden to him. Each soft rose-tipped breast, each curve of her hip, each toe. Her plump thighs, the swell of her belly, her beautiful bare mound with its tiny heart-shaped freckle, as though Venus herself had branded her for love. Edward would keep his wife in this bed as long as he could, which would never be long enough.
He pushed a copper strand from her damp brow. “We are not done. Not yet.”
“Speak for yourself, my lord. I cannot imagine being more done than I am now.” Her voice was rusty from her cries.
“I’m confident I can convince you otherwise.” His thumb traced her cheekbone, then swept across her well-kissed lips. If she opened them, she would taste her own honey.
She turned her face and pushed at him ineffectually. “Edward, do get up. I’m roasting. Burning up.”
“My plan precisely. I think it’s past time we removed our clothes, yes?”
She scrunched her red-gold brows. “I don’t like the sound of ‘we.’”
“All right. I shall remove
your
clothes.” He eased out and lay on his side, examining the row of buttons on her bodice. Caroline’s skirts were hiked up to her waist but despite her objection she made no effort to pull them down. Excellent. Seeing half of her was better than seeing none of her, but he wouldn’t let those damn buttons get the best of him again.
your
clothes.” He eased out and lay on his side, examining the row of buttons on her bodice. Caroline’s skirts were hiked up to her waist but despite her objection she made no effort to pull them down. Excellent. Seeing half of her was better than seeing none of her, but he wouldn’t let those damn buttons get the best of him again.
He would start with her black slippers and her stockings and her garters. He sat up, the room swimming a bit. She had wrecked him—certainly wrecked him for any other woman. He looked down at his ruined clothing, thankful he’d given Cameron time off so he’d be spared the disapproval. Taking one of Caroline’s feet in the palm of his hand, he pulled the grosgrain ribbon from its knot at her ankle and tossed the shoe aside. Her cotton stockings were beige and practical for travel, no pretty embroidered fleur-de-lis or tiny clocks, but her garters were a different story. The rosettes were studded with winking crystals and seed pearls, a pretty boon for a knight to carry into battle. He untied one and rolled the stocking from her calf.
Caroline lay still, her silver eyes closed.
“You won’t kick me?”
She shook her head into the pillow as he began to knead her arch, rolling her heel in the cup of his hand as his long fingers traced a line to her toes. He felt her relax into his palm, her foot growing heavier, her other limb splayed in abandon to reveal her glistening cleft. She sighed as he tugged at each toe, working the knots out, rubbing her sole as earnestly as he did her swollen bud earlier. He lifted her calf and bent to kiss the little line behind her knee, allowing his hands to wander a bit farther north. She tapped her still-shod foot onto the coverlet.
“Ah. I’m getting carried away. I almost forgot.” He made quick work of undressing her other foot. “I can see it’s cross with me.” He lightly kissed each toe, massaging all the while. Caroline let out a whimper which he took for an invitation, so he kissed his way up her leg, his hands smoothing and stroking in tandem.
He was hard again already. Molten. Her scent and his filled his senses as he parted her and feasted, filling his mouth with her tender pink pearl. She convulsed beneath him, still greedy, still his. For tonight.
He gazed up though his lashes and saw Caroline struggling with her tiny buttons in frustration. She was half mad. Clumsy. His doing. He smiled and swiped his tongue deeper and felt each tremor against the tip. She abandoned the buttons and held him to her center, her words incoherent but her body stating plainly its need. Edward happily obliged in her drugging embrace, each kiss justified by her response. He could imagine doing this with no one other than Caroline, swallowing her bliss, tasting his own triumph.
She begged him to stop, yet he felt her fingers run ragged in his hair, each stroke a second late mimicking his tongue, as though they were dancing to the same tune from across a sensual divide. She crested again and again, sobbing his name. His common English name had never sounded sweeter or meant more.
And still they were dressed. Ridiculous. He gave her a final kiss, sat up, and tore off his jacket.
“Oh, no. No more,” she whispered.
“We have tonight, Caro. Only tonight.”
She nodded. “I can’t—you can’t—we must put an end to this. You know it as well as I.”
He didn’t agree, but was not going to ruin what was between them with an argument. But if he didn’t shed his clothes, he’d burn up like a dry forest hit by lightning. Caroline was his lightning, his flame. He could taste the ash of her leaving already.
He fingered the little blue bone buttons. He saw they were shaped like little flowers, each petal sharp. Caroline always had an eye for detail. Why she couldn’t see how much he loved her was a complete mystery to him. “What fiend sewed these on?”
She batted him away and began to unfasten them herself. “It’s just because I’m hot. We are not going to—you know. Ever again.”
“I know what?”
“You know,” she said, glaring at him.
He slipped down next to her. “It doesn’t seem fair, Caro. This last time was all for you. When do I get my turn?”
“You’ve had your turn. Too many turns. I can’t keep tumbling into bed with you, Edward. Especially since I’m very, very angry with you.”
He lifted her chin, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, I could tell how angry you were. You were just chock full of—anger, was it?”
“Now you are mocking me. Of course I responded to you. I’m only human. But
you’ve
been the fiend, tying me up and carting me off to the country like this. I want to go away. Tomorrow.”
you’ve
been the fiend, tying me up and carting me off to the country like this. I want to go away. Tomorrow.”
“All right.”
She opened her mouth. “You don’t mean that. Not really.”
“Of course I mean it. A Christie’s word is his bond.”
“Then this is our last night together.” She didn’t sound as happy as she might have.
“If that’s what you want.”
“I do. It’s exactly what I want.” She pulled the blue dress over her head and dropped it to the floor. The finest French batiste shift still covered too much of her, but Edward saw the gratifying shadow of her nipples beneath the fabric. He continued to undress until he was shorn of everything but a massive erection.
Caroline closed her eyes. “Oh, no. I simply can’t.”
“There won’t be anything simple about it, Caro, I guarantee that. For the
last
time should be special, should it not?”
last
time should be special, should it not?”
The flush had left her cheeks and throat. Caro was alabaster in the lamplight, as beautiful as a marble statue. But her body was damp and warm against his, though not for long. He broke the spell deliberately. “You must promise me something.”
She curled into his shoulder as though she had forgotten they would not be lovers again. “No. No promises. I’ve said all I’m going to say. You said I could leave tomorrow.”
“This is not about us. I’ve had word from Lord Douglass.” Edward’s sister Beth had sent a footman with the letter to Bradlaw House that afternoon. Edward should have sent
her
to buy a proper red dress. She was one of the few who knew of his reconciliation plan, and had encouraged him with unrestrained enthusiasm. Obviously, she’d read too many of Caro’s books to recognize romantic drivel did not work in reality.
Lord Farringdon’s Fickle Fiancée
had been a dismal failure if even after the passion of the past few hours, they could not put their marriage to rights.
her
to buy a proper red dress. She was one of the few who knew of his reconciliation plan, and had encouraged him with unrestrained enthusiasm. Obviously, she’d read too many of Caro’s books to recognize romantic drivel did not work in reality.
Lord Farringdon’s Fickle Fiancée
had been a dismal failure if even after the passion of the past few hours, they could not put their marriage to rights.
He felt the immediate emptiness when Caro rolled away. “Now what? Don’t tell me you mean to keep me by sleeping against the bedroom door like some bloody great mastiff for the rest of my life. I won’t be threatened by these amorphous plots. Or by your misplaced sense of chivalry.” She sat up, her hair a crimson thundercloud in the lamplight. “This is it, Edward. The last fling. Don’t think you can scare me into staying. We are absolutely, completely, one hundred percent over.”
Edward felt deflated. Gut punched. She meant what she said. It was the last time he would ever see her creamy skin or feel her wet velvet around his cock. He would send her home tomorrow. Buy her the promised cottage far, far away. In America if she’d go. There was no point in further discussion. Her very presence would break his heart. By having this conversation now, he was ensuring it was, in fact, the end. Any further arrangements they’d make would be free of feeling. He would summon Cold Christie and that would be that.
“You’ve made yourself quite plain I’m not wanted. We’ll talk about the formal end to this marriage tomorrow when our heads are clear.” He doubted his head would be clear anytime soon, but he’d not bore her with any more entreaties. His Christie pride forbade him lowering himself any lower. At least he’d have a shred of dignity left when he handed her up into his carriage tomorrow afternoon. “Please listen. He tells me Pope has not entirely gotten over your insult to him.”
“But you spoke to him yourself weeks ago!”
Edward nodded. “I did. And he was most convincing in his assertion that he was not the man Rossiter overheard in the garden. I thought he might actually haul off and sock me, he was so full of righteous bluster. But Douglass warns me that Pope seems more desperate than ever. He’s had some financial reverses and blames you.”
“I? As though I have anything to do with the Exchange! This is ludicrous, Edward. Why are you telling me?”
“I just want you to be careful in the future, when you will no longer have my protection.” The thought of Caroline rattling around by herself in the country pierced him. But he’d hire servants. Get her a real mastiff if necessary. Harold wouldn’t like that one bit.
“I’ve already promised not to write any more books. I don’t see what else I can do.”
She was off the bed, reaching for the old red poppy robe on the chair. To his surprise, Edward realized he would miss the robe, and the lush white body beneath it even more. Their lives were about to change, his back to the well-worn groove of propriety. Speeches in Parliament. Stultifying dinner parties. Estate matters. Only his children would have the power to set him off-kilter. He nearly looked forward to Neddie’s next mess.
Caroline’s world would shrink even further. She’d be buried in the country. No naughty tea parties, no naughty books. A living death for a scarlet butterfly like Caro. But it was what she wanted.
He wondered how long she would last. “You won’t miss writing?”
Caroline shrugged. “It hasn’t been easy the past few months. I may have run out of ways to murder my characters.”
Edward would have been sublimely happy to have died in her arms a few minutes ago. But he had responsibilities. Duties. Cutting Caro loose as requested was one of them.
She belted the robe and sat at her dressing table, untangling the thicket of curls. He didn’t dare to get up and help her tonight. But he needed to get up. Put on his clothes and go. Turn the key in the lock for the last time. Lie awake down the hall knowing she was under his borrowed roof, breathing the same night air as he, perhaps feeling the same regret. She would be close, yet a world away.
Tomorrow they would conclude their business. He would be generous. He’d set his man of business out at once to buy her some damned country house with enough damned flowers to choke a herd of goats. Hire a staff. Double her allowance. Will would rail at him, but his money meant nothing. There would be plenty for Ned to run through, and more than adequate provisions had been make for Jack and Allie. Edward was not so distraught that he longed for death. The years ahead stretched empty before him, but he would manage. Christies always did.
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