Regret Not a Moment (13 page)

But the innocent questioning look that she encountered in Devon’s eyes exasperated her. Why had he picked this well-bred virginal girl? She could never satisfy his passion as Loretta had!

Suddenly Loretta wanted to wipe the innocent look off Devon’s face—wanted to make her feel the pain that she had felt at John Alexander’s rejection. It was obvious to Loretta that Devon had been cherished and protected all her life. The idea galled her.

“Your fiancé,” snapped Loretta. “You don’t know what kind of man he is.”

Devon’s face changed immediately. The light of innocence in her eyes was extinguished and replaced with understanding. Then a cool mask fell over her beautiful features. Loretta was shocked at the transformation. Was it possible that she had misjudged Devon’s ignorance? She was quick, Loretta had to admit, and perhaps not as innocent as she seemed.

But Devon only half understood the nature of John’s relationship with Loretta, and she didn’t really want to know more. The logistics and emotions involved were completely foreign to Devon. What was clear to her, however, was that the woman intended to create unpleasantness. Devon had been brought up to avoid unpleasant confrontations at all costs. So although she was dismayed, she did not show it. Instead, she tried to disarm Loretta and forestall her confidences. “I know all that I need to know about John. Whatever he was to you has nothing to do with me,” she said evenly.

“You don’t know everything you need to know,” retorted Loretta, angry that her words had had so little effect. “All of last year, John and I had a love affair. He used to wait for me every night to finish up at the theater. He was like a panting dog, he wanted me so much!”

Devon was shaken by the vision Loretta’s words conjured. Hands tensely clasped in her lap, body perfectly still, Devon studied Loretta as the blonde woman glared challengingly at her. There was a blatant sexuality about the actress. The sexuality had been evident two nights ago on stage, but was even more pronounced now that Loretta was standing before her. There was no doubt that she was ragingly attractive. And yet, John had ended the relationship. The woman was admitting as much by her very presence. Would she be standing here now if she were not desperate? No. Clearly John was lost to her, and she knew it. With that thought, Devon no longer felt threatened by Loretta. After all, John had chosen to marry her, not Loretta.

Devon’s gaze coolly met Loretta’s. “The situation has obviously changed, hasn’t it?” she asked in a neutral tone. She did not want to incite Loretta further by using a mocking voice.

“It changed because I got tired of him!” Loretta cried, moving closer to Devon so that she stood directly in front of her chair.

“I don’t believe you,” Devon said stonily. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

Loretta stamped her foot, frustrated by Devon’s poise. She groped for a response, but in her excitement, she could only think to say, “I’m here because I want you to know what you’re doing before it’s too late!”

“An act of charity?” Devon said, raising one eyebrow in marked disbelief. She was feeling quite sure of herself now. It was obvious that the woman was eaten up with jealousy. John had never denied the fact that he had had women before Devon. Well then, she told herself. This was one of them. So be it. She refused to let it touch her. It had nothing to do with their love.

“You think someone like you can hold him? What do you know about pleasing a man like John?” said Loretta scornfully.

“Miss Morgan, I don’t see the point of continuing this discussion any further. Whatever interest Mr. Alexander had in you is gone. It doesn’t matter why or how. I’m going to marry him. I suggest you reconcile yourself to that,” said Devon, reaching for the bell pull to summon Truitt. But before she could do so, Loretta bent over and grabbed her wrist.

“Just remember this,” she hissed, hating Devon for her unruffled demeanor, for her privileged birth, for everything she represented that Loretta could never become, “when he goes to bed with you at night, he’ll be comparing you to me. You won’t be able to live up to that! You won’t know how to please him. And he’ll come running back to me then!”

Devon jerked her wrist from Loretta’s grasp and rang the bell pull. “Don’t wait for him, Miss Morgan,” she said, pronouncing each word with deliberate iciness, “you’ll be wasting your time.”

Truitt appeared immediately, indicating that he had been hovering worriedly outside the closed door.

“Miss Morgan would like to leave now, Truitt. Will you please show her out?” said Devon, in a voice that was so pleasant and calm that an observer would have supposed that a routine social call was coming to an end.

Truitt looked at the red-faced blonde angrily making her way toward him, then at his mistress, straight-backed in the armchair, a tight little smile on her face. Impassively, he turned and led Loretta from the room. Loretta did not wait for Truitt to help her on with her coat, but snatched it rudely from his hands as she hurried out the door.

Devon did not change for dinner that evening. Instead she sat quietly thinking by the fire until John was announced. He dined at the Richmonds several times a week now.

“Darling,” said John. He stood behind Devon’s chair and leaned down to kiss her after hastily looking around the room to be sure they were alone. “Don’t you look beautiful. I love that pink dress on you.” He caressed her silky hair, relishing the feel of it in his fingers. His hands drifted down to her shoulders and Devon reached behind her to grasp them lovingly in her own hands.

“I know it’s one of your favorites,” said Devon warmly. “That’s why I didn’t change. Besides, it’s just family tonight.” Devon turned and pulled John gently around her chair so that she could look at him.

“I thought tonight would never come,” said John with a big grin, sitting on the hassock in front of her and leaning forward for another kiss. This time his lips lingered on hers as she put her hands up to his neck. At the sound of a door closing in the hallway, he backed away from her, sighing with regret. “I missed you today. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, the usual thing,” said Devon casually.

“I saw Bart today. He said Sydney might call on you. Didn’t she stop by?”

“No,” said Devon. “No visitors at all today.”

MARRIED to John, truly married—Devon could not believe how happy she was. Their state room on the luxury ship was crammed with friends wishing them bon voyage on their honeymoon trip. Just a week ago, most of the same people had crowded into the little church in Middleburg, Virginia, for Devon and John’s wedding.

It had been so beautiful. Devon still grew misty-eyed as she thought of it. Her gown, though not a French design as Grace would have liked, could not have been more perfect, in Devon’s view. The long, straight lines of the dress had been carefully cut to mold Devon’s slim figure, its long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder style showing off the lovely roundness of Devon’s neck and shoulders. It was of rich ivory satin entirely covered with Alencon lace, ending in a long train. The veil—her mother’s—had been almost as long. It began with a coronet of pearls, then flowed into an expanse of lace-trimmed tulle.

John had looked so handsome in his gray morning coat that Devon had been afraid her face would betray her longing for him—and in front of the minister! She glanced at him now as he clinked his glass against that of his best friend, Charles Wittingham. Her heart fluttered as she remembered their wedding night. It had been all she had hoped for, yet all so new and unexpected!

They had spent their first night as man and wife in a guest room at Evergreen, since their new estate, Willowbrook, was undergoing renovations. Laurel had tactfully placed them in a secluded wing of the house, knowing that they would cherish the privacy. They had entered the room following the afternoon-long reception, and had not left the luxurious old canopied and curtained bed until twenty-four hours later. A supper had been sent up on a tray but it had remained largely untouched, as John and Devon’s hunger for each other had been far greater.

At first, Devon had been nervous. She had managed to push Loretta’s taunting words from her mind for months, but suddenly, faced with the threat of not pleasing John, they replayed themselves in her mind over and over, as though Loretta were standing by her side, mocking her. Would she please him? she wondered. She had been told to expect some pain—would it ruin their pleasure?

But all her worries had been dispelled as soon as John had taken her in his arms. He had hugged her to him for several minutes, kissing her and whispering endearments, then he had turned her around and slowly undone the long row of tiny pearl buttons down the back of her dress.

Cold and excitement made her shiver as he slipped the luxurious material off her shoulders and ran his warm tongue up her spine to the nape of her neck. From behind, he took one of her firm breasts in each hand, sensually massaging them until she ached with desire.

He turned her around then and knelt before her where she stood in nothing but transparent lace-trimmed panties, frilly garters, and white silk stockings and shoes. With teasing feathery kisses, he encircled each nipple in turn until they were both erect, straining for more attention. Devon could feel his touch vibrate through her body. With excruciating slowness, he slid the panties down her satiny legs, helping her to balance as she lifted first one leg, then the other, to remove them.

The sight of her long legs clad in nothing but her stockings and shoes almost made him lose control of himself, but he knew not to hurry her. Still kneeling before her, he hugged her to him, laying his head against her stomach as he ran a hand lightly over her thighs and buttocks. Oh, how she wanted him to touch her… there… between her legs where her body cried out for relief from the exquisite tension. Her desire was so great that she actually reached for his hand and brought it up to her. An act so bold as to be almost unthinkable!

But John was delighted that her desire overcame her shyness and, tentatively and oh so gently, slipped a finger inside her as he massaged her on the outside with his thumb. She was unable to stand any longer. Her knees simply buckled, sending her into his arms. It was so erotic to be naked against him while he was still fully dressed. Somehow it seemed he knew that, because he simply laid her down carefully where she was and, spreading her legs, inserted his tongue where his finger had been earlier. She could not believe he was doing such a thing! She knew about the act of procreation, but had no idea that people did… this. At first she recoiled, but the pleasure was too great and it was beyond her control to stop it. Then it happened for the first time. That strange, dizzy feeling as sweet release flooded her. And while she was still so wet and open to him, he undressed and, unable to contain himself any longer, entered her. The pain was not so great. The pleasure was greater as they began to move together in an instinctive, ancient rhythm that was perfectly… right. And, in a few seconds, she felt that sweeping pleasure rise in her again. That tension that made her limbs stiffen, her muscles strain around him. She enfolded him in her. Drew him deeper and deeper, as he moved more forcefully with each stroke. Then she felt him shudder. He moaned as he thrust into her and the motion drove her over the peak until she, too, was moaning with the sheer ecstasy of it.

Later that evening, when she had had more time to study his body, she marveled at the beauty of him—the long muscles rippling in his arms, legs, and shoulders. His small waist and flat stomach, with its line of dark hair leading downward. The sight of him aroused her to the extent that she wanted him again, although he was lying sleepily in front of the fire, spent from their love. So she had done to him what he had done to her earlier. He had been surprised, perhaps even shocked, that she would take him into her mouth in that way. At first she had not known exactly what to do, but with subtle movements he had indicated his pleasure, and when he was hard again, she had wrapped her legs around him and drawn him into her. And there had been no pain this time.

“I love you, Devon. You excite me beyond my wildest dreams,” he told her afterward.

She thought of Loretta no more.

Now, as she watched him talking to their friends, she had a desire for him that was so strong that she felt herself grow moist. Suddenly it seemed as though the spacious suite was too small, too hot, and she could barely restrain herself from ushering their guests out. Feeling her stare, John looked up and caught her eye. For a second they stood riveted, locked in each others gaze.

Somehow, John and Devon managed politely to hasten their good-byes. As soon as the door closed behind their last guest, they turned the lock, and without even bothering to lead Devon to the bed, John began to undress. Devon’s impatience matched his, and breathless with desire, she almost tore the buttons from her lavender silk traveling suit as she hurried to remove the jacket. Naked now, John knelt and pulled Devon’s skirt over her ankles. She began to unfasten her underthings, but he stopped her, unable to wait any longer. Shoving her loose silk panties to one side, he bent his knees and slid his erect member into the warm space between her legs, pleased to find that she was as ready as he. Using the door as a brace for her, he lifted her slightly as she encircled his back tightly with her legs. Moving together in dazzling unison, flesh upon flesh, explosive with waiting and wanting, the contact drove them over the edge. Both of them lost control almost at once as their knees buckled with sweet release.

“You look ecstatic, Devon,” Grace said. It was a warm, sunny day and the two women were lunching at a sidewalk cafe. The sisters drew many appreciative stares as they spoke across the tiny table in confidential tones. Grace had managed to capture the unmistakable high style of the Parisienne, from the figure-hugging severity of her white pique Chanel suit to the coquettish tilt of her veiled straw hat. Accessories were the key to Grace’s look, and today her choices were a striking pair of harlequin-patterned white-and-black kid gloves along with matching shoes. These small but important deviations from her white ensemble added an intriguing flair to her chic. Devon, softer in her look, evoked visions of romance in the men who beheld her. Her dress was also white, but the material was a soft and billowy cotton organdy that flowed provocatively with each step and enticed with hints of transparency. With it she wore a large white picture hat with streamers of pale blue chiffon.