Romancing the Countess (32 page)
“But it’s not too late,” he continued. “It’s crossed my mind the past couple of days, and . . . since we haven’t consummated the marriage, I could petition for an annulment.”
“Is that what you want?” she asked. He’d said he couldn’t resist her. He looked at her like he wanted her to go away but needed her to stay. As if she were his salvation and damnation combined.
“No. But neither can I stop myself from wanting you, and you’ve made it quite clear—”
Leah leaned forward, before she could think of all the reasons not to, bent her head, and kissed him.
Sebastian didn’t move when Leah’s lips met his. It was almost as if he was inside a dream. Never had he thought she would be the one to come to him, to touch him, to kiss him.
But there she was, her mouth on his, gently persistent, moving over his. Her hands cupping each side of his face. Her scent and warmth surrounding him.
He parted his mouth, just to see what she would do. When she bit down on his lower lip, he couldn’t keep the groan from rising inside his chest, and his arms came up, his hands settling at her waist, pulling her closer.
Almost as soon as he touched her, she pulled away, panting. But her cheeks were flushed, her eyes hazed—almost as if she’d drunk too much—and she swayed as she placed her hands behind her, steadying herself against the desk.
They stared at each other, Sebastian’s heart pounding in his chest, his body prepared to take her upon his lap and devour her. He’d never wanted like this before, almost as if she were his only hope of sustenance. Not even with Angela.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her breathing broken. “I can only give you a kiss.”
“But why? Why kiss me at all?”
She lifted her hand to her neck, her cheek, her hair, almost as if to assure herself that she was still whole. Did she believe he would destroy her if he came too close? “Because I . . . I wanted to.”
Sebastian’s chest rose sharply. “While I appreciate your gesture, I can’t do it that way. I can’t keep a firm control on myself all the time, and then have you suddenly come at me with your own desires. I’m not that good of a man.”
Her hands lowered, twisting at her waist. Her lashes fell to her cheeks, then rose again. “Then just spend time with me,” she said. “With Henry, if that’s the way it must be.”
“If I spend time with you, with or without Henry, I’m not going to be able to hide my desire for you.”
“Then don’t,” she said, then paused, staring directly into his eyes. “As long as you allow me to look my fill, also.”
For several moments, Sebastian didn’t breathe. A flush rose beneath his skin, heating his body, tightening his loins. He almost reached for her, almost told her that it was more than desire that drew him to her. Instead, he simply said her name, although it sounded more like a curse as it was torn from his throat. “Leah.”
She darted away, as if she knew the dangers of remaining so close to him. “Perhaps if we spend more time together, one day I will be ready to . . .”
Sebastian took a deep breath, forcing his mind to clear. “We made an agreement. If you never wish to come to my bed, I will honor it. But I can promise you that I will continue to desire you, to imagine making love to you, no matter what you decide.”
Her lips parted, softening from the line where she’d pressed them together.
“Should I not have spoken so?” he asked in a low voice, leaning forward.
“No . . . You may speak as you wish.”
His gaze lifted from her lips back to her eyes. Rising from the chair, he crossed to the sofa and sat down. “Come here, then.” When she didn’t move, he added, “I won’t touch you.”
She followed his path, her steps small and hesitant. But she came.
“Sit down,” he said, motioning to the opposite end of the sofa. To his surprise, she obeyed without saying a word. Wonder of wonders, his independent wife was allowing him to instruct her.
He shifted on the sofa so that his body was turned toward her. “No matter what I say, promise me that you won’t look away or close your eyes.”
A ripple slid down her throat as she swallowed, drawing his attention. He should have sat on the opposite side of the room. Already he wanted to cover her with his lips, to suck at the spot where her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat.
Then her chin lifted, and she said, her voice only slightly louder than a whisper, “I promise.”
“It’s the end of summer again. We’re not at Linley Park, but here. We’re outside. It’s late at night, and the stars and the moon are the only light we have. The lamp is no longer lit. I’ve brought you out to the meadow with the pretense of looking at the sky through the telescope, to show you a constellation that can be seen only at this particular time. There is a blanket on the ground, and two glasses of champagne. It’s much the same as it was at the country house party, only we are alone. Do you remember?”
“Yes.”
“You’re wearing the black dress you wore the last evening, the one that made a mockery of your widowhood. In the moonlight, your back gleams like a white pearl, like the ones on either side of the V. You’re wearing black gloves also, and although it’s dark outside and it’s only the two of us, your mourning veil.”
Sebastian looked down at Leah’s hands and found them clenched tightly together in her lap. He returned his gaze to her eyes. “Neither of us can see the other through the shroud of your veil. I take your hand and guide you to sit down on the blanket. First I take off my gloves, and then I slide yours down your arms, my fingers trailing over each inch of pale skin that’s revealed. You’re warm to the touch, the inside of your wrists smooth, silken. I can feel your pulse beating against my thumb as I pause there, savoring the first feel of your flesh against mine.”
Leah’s gaze left his, moved to somewhere beyond his shoulder. “Don’t look away,” he ordered. She drew in a shaky breath, then looked at him again. Sebastian almost stopped there, arrested by the uncertainty in her eyes. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Leah’s mind screamed for her to stand and run out the door. Every muscle was tensed, prepared to obey. Even her heart beat wildly inside her chest, each thud seeming to demand, “Go. Go. Go.”
But she stayed. Not because she had promised—she’d broken promises before. But because, God help her, she wanted to know what came next.
“After I remove your gloves, I draw you down, until you’re lying on the blanket, watching me. I push your skirts to the middle of your thighs. You’re not wearing anything else—no corset, no petticoats, no chemise. No stockings. I stare at your legs, wanting to push your skirts higher, but I resist. I remove your shoes instead. I run my hands over your arches, your heels, curving around your calves. I lean over you and push my hands against the insides of your thighs, spreading your legs wide.”
Sebastian stopped speaking and simply stared at her. Leah had to force herself not to cover her face with her hands, but to meet his gaze evenly, to see his desire glinting from the depths of his eyes. And she became aware of other things, too. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, as if to defend herself against the hands which spread them apart in his fantasy. She wasn’t breathing. She was drinking the air. In the silence between them, she could hear her own rapid pants, pulling and pushing out oxygen as if she would never be able to get enough.
A corner of his mouth tilted, his eyes darkening. “Am I arousing you, Leah?”
A beam of afternoon sunlight penetrated through an opening in the window curtains, slicing between them. She shook her head, not daring to look away.
“Ah. Then I shall endeavor to do better.”
She bit her tongue—unsure whether it was more inclined to urge him to continue or stop.
“Your legs are spread wide apart, and I settle between, kissing the insides of your knees, moving upward along your thighs. My hands push your skirts higher, ever higher as I continue kissing you—with my lips, with my tongue, biting at your tender flesh. But I stop at the top of your thighs, your skirts still hiding the view of your quim—”
Leah gasped, then swallowed. His gaze followed her hand as it lifted to her throat. She lowered it, but slowly, almost tempted to let it cover her breast, to have his eyes linger there.
“I’ve often wondered what you look like there,” he said. “Your hair is light brown. Is the hair between your thighs lighter? Darker? Is it black?”
His voice was like an opiate, mesmerizing, his words not only seducing her imagination but her body as well. They slid along her limbs, making them heavy with desire. They moved inside her veins, along every nerve ending. With only his voice, she felt the pull at her nipples, as if he’d set his mouth there. She felt his words probe at her core, as deft as fingers. Stroking, heating, softening her.
“Leah?” He tilted his head, the question of her name drawing her out of the near trancelike state. “Would you like to tell me the color?”
She didn’t think she could blush any more, but she did. Heat scoured her cheeks, as if a fever had overtaken her. “No,” she choked out.
His mouth curved again, that knowing, sensual imitation of a smile. “Very well. I shall imagine that it’s the same color as your hair. The dark amber of honey.”
He paused, looking at her expectantly, but Leah wouldn’t speak to either confirm or deny. Neither would she consider the use of honey as an innuendo for her taste. Or rather, she didn’t want to consider it. But she did. And she felt a rush of heat between her thighs, dampening her flesh.
And still Sebastian continued his torture. “I’ve thought about how you would feel to the touch, the softness, beckoning me to search further. I imagine parting your lips, slipping my fingers inside to feel the heat, the wetness. My thumb would caress you until you came, while my index finger moved in and out, exploring your tightness, making love to you until you cried out for me to stop.”
“Is—” Leah glanced away, then remembered and looked at him again. “Is this still happening when we’re in the meadow?”
“Oh, no,” he said softly, his voice dragging across her senses like velvet. “I’m imagining doing this to you right now.”
Leah leapt to her feet.
He stood as well, although he didn’t follow her as she ran toward the door. “We can go back to the meadow if you like,” he said, in such a way she was convinced he taunted her. “I have yet to fully unclothe you.” He took a step forward, and then another. “Don’t you want to know what happens next?”
Leah leaned against the door, her hand gripping the handle. He continued strolling toward her. She should flee. And yet she didn’t.
Reaching out, he took her hand in his.
“You said you wouldn’t touch me.”
“I’ll let you go soon.”
With a gentle pressure, he moved her away from the doorframe to the nearby wall. As promised, he released her hand. Leah flattened herself against the wall, the back of her head sliding against the silk wallpaper as he stood in front of her, only a few inches keeping his legs from brushing against her skirts. He lifted his arms and placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, then bent his head to her ear.
“I’m not touching you.”
Chapter 19
I won’t cry again, I promise. You needn’t worry about me. This is what I want. You are what I want.
Leah closed her eyes. He might as well have been touching her, for the way his nearness affected her. If she had thought his words dangerous, the scent of him, the heat from his body was even more so.
It curled inside her, creating a longing she’d rather ignore. It wasn’t desire or a physical craving. It wasn’t lust but something more, something that she feared had to do only with Sebastian. She’d thought she’d experienced it before with Ian, but now, now that Sebastian stood before her, she realized that it had only been a glimpse of a shadow.
“Leah.” He said her name, and she breathed it in, the sound filling her, expanding her lungs, warming her hands and her feet and everything in between.
Without opening her eyes, she rose to her tiptoes and leaned forward. Her lips found the side of his neck, the warm skin above his cravat, his racing pulse. He stiffened.
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