Rules of Engagement (20 page)

She was completely exposed. She could never pretend this hadn't happened. She had agreed to—no, insisted on— consummation with no hope of denial. A blush climbed from her chest to her forehead, and she looked everywhere but at Kerrich.

"Don't," he commanded.

She glanced down at him sprawled beneath her, then glanced away. "Don't what?"

"Don't give me your regrets. That wasn't a calling card you gave me. That was your virginity, and I will not have you say you repent it."

She looked again, and his play of features demanded as much as his body had a few moments ago. "Then I won't
tell
you."

He smiled at her, a winsome smile of great charm. "Don't repent it, either."

"No… no." She wouldn't. Rational or not, she had made the decision to know him carnally, she was an adult woman, and she would take any consequences that transpired. Moreover, it occurred to her that, given the chance, every sane women in the civilized world would choose to experience amorality with Kerrich; Pamela would have to keep this a secret or the man would be inundated with offers.

"I can't keep it a secret forever!"

Bewildered, he shook his head. "What?"

Remembering his reputation, she added morosely, "Everyone already knows."

"Knows… what?"

"That you're an expert at this. That you can bring a woman ecstasy."

Stretching his hands up, he hooked his hands under his head and looked unbearably brazen. "Did I bring you ecstasy?"

She sat up a little straighter. "You know very well what your capabilities are. You don't need me to tell you."

"But I do." He let his appreciative gaze travel up her body to her face. "It's a little-known fact, but men need to be encouraged before they can perform. You should praise me constantly, and if you do, I'll personally guarantee ecstasy every night of our married life."

In perplexity and desperation, she asked, "Why are you pursuing this? I told you I wouldn't wed you."

"I always planned to marry, although not yet, but you are…" He hesitated for a telling moment.

"Convenient? Without interfering relatives? Pretty enough?"

He visibly wavered. "Well… yes, all of those things. And I like you, I enjoy talking with you, my marriage would fulfill the queen's wish, and you wouldn't expect more from me than I was willing to give."

"Why are you spoiling a wonderful moment?" she asked in despair. "You're a rake, and rakes are safe. A rake doesn't want to marry."

"I don't
want
to, but if I must—"

"I don't know where you earned the reputation for honeyed words. You're insulting." He opened his mouth to argue, and she spoke right over him. "I can't marry anyone. Especially not you. Don't you understand? I want what my mother never had. I want a whole man. Or none."

His mouth twisted wryly. "Which parts do you find me missing?"

In a vain attempt to bring back their accord, she leaned down so her nipples brushed his chest and let her mouth hover just above his. "If you were missing any parts, I wouldn't know, would I?"

"I wouldn't tell you, either. Why won't you marry me?"

Leaning her arms on his chest, she explained, "I want a complete husband. I don't want to share him with other women. Nor even one other woman. I want to know he means his marriage vows and will love me forever and ever."

"Perhaps…"

"No." She put her fingers over his lips. "Don't even suggest it. You want things, unreasonable things, like a wife who loves only
you
and trusts
you
implicitly."

She was right, he realized. He didn't even understand it himself. This very morning he'd considered marriage nothing more than an undesirable future obligation. And he must have the devotion denied his father or he would have no wife at all. Grandpapa would say Pamela's and Kerrich's shared parental disappointments gave them common ground for a marriage. Yet when Kerrich looked at the idea logically, he knew their betrayed hopes divided them as surely as the greatest chasm, for it would take a miracle for either one of them to trust through the difficulty and the years of marriage.

On the other hand, he felt he could spend the rest of his life right here, inside Miss Lockhart. Inside Pamela.

So she would have to learn to trust him, become devoted to him, and then wed him, because marriage was what he wanted.

Slowly, he rose onto his elbows, then up on his hands, and looked her in the eyes. "We are not done here yet. Not until I convince you."

She opened her mouth to argue, and he smoothed his lips against hers. She resisted for one long moment, then she softened against him, female, pliant, warm, tender. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, and inside her his organ stirred to life.

Damn, it wasn't possible. Not so soon.

He slid to the edge of the desk, placed his hands under her bottom, and lifted her as he stood. She made no objection; indeed, she clung as he wanted her to, her strong legs wrapped around his hips, her slender arms clasping his neck.

Where did he want her? He'd already had her on the desk, and never would he work there without remembering the rise and fall, the heat and excitement, the sweat and the moans. Tupping Pamela had been everything he had ever dreamed in his wildest adolescent fantasies, and now he would live his dream again.

Where else did he want to build a memory?

On the rug. Clasping her hips tightly to his, he tumbled to the floor before the fire. The thick Oriental carpet cushioned his fall, he cushioned Pamela's, and they were still one. For some reason, that mattered more than it should. "Are you all right?" He laid her flat and knelt over her, holding her hips high, keeping himself inside. "Did I hurt you?" He brushed her hair out of her face, trying to see if she was in pain, if he should remember his background as a gentleman and let her go.

She returned the favor, brushing his hair off his forehead. "You didn't hurt me. Only a little, and the pleasure more than paid for the pain."

"So I can do this?" He moved his hips a little, testing her while watching her face.

Her eyelids drooped. "That's very intense."

"Intense?" He did it again. Her tissues were still swollen from excitement and tight with her virginity, and her passages clung to him, rubbing him like the tightest fist.

Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm sensitive now and that—" She grabbed his shoulders when he moved again, and her nails dug into his skin.

He scarcely felt the pain as his cock finished hardening within her. She lifted her hips toward him, and he whispered, "Pamela, stop. If you don't lie very still, I won't be accountable for my actions."

She lifted her hips again, and this time she added a little swirl.

He didn't think she knew what she was doing; her eyes were closed, and she wore the expression of a woman discovering lust and reveling in it. But he had to grind his teeth to remain in control. He had to. He ought to. Ought to… he entered her to the hilt, then drew himself almost all the way out, and heard her moan. He ought to let her take her enjoyment of him.

He pushed his way back in again, taking his time, allowing her body to adjust.

She wrapped her arms around his buttocks, pulled him tightly against her, arched her back, and so suddenly he was caught by surprise, she came to orgasm. Holding him where she wanted him, she surged against him in shuddering waves, grinding herself against him, using him like… like a woman uses a man.

If he could have laughed, he would have. Instead, the fever caught him up and he lost all sense, all decency, and every bit of the discipline he had spent years developing. He thrust himself into her, once, again, taking his satisfaction on Pamela as if she were just a mistress and not the one he loved.

No. She was not the one!

But he couldn't pull back. His body held him in thrall, and he poured his seed into her, uncaring of the consequences. She was his, and he would put his stamp of possession on her.

When he finished, he collapsed on her, almost unconscious and completely empty. She had all of him there was to give. If, by some stroke of outstanding luck, she demanded he service her again tonight, he would have to resort to the French method… and if his lips could have smiled, they would, at the thought of the rapture that would bring her.

Slowly he became aware that his weight was pressing her into the carpet, that her hands were stroking down his back, and her small, incoherent whimpers had become words.

"That was so good." She smoothed his hair back over his ears. "You are so good. You make me happy. I'll never stop wanting you."

Bone weary and yet so contented, he lifted the worst of his weight off of her. "Did I hurt you that time?"

"Yes." She smiled at him, a spent smile that probably matched his own. "But it didn't last very long."

His eyes narrowed on her. "It lasted long enough, didn't it?"

"Funny. I thought you would remember." Her smile slipped. "We can't ever do this again. We have a child in the house. Your grandfather is here. Your cousin—"

"Let's not forget the servants." He was sarcastic.

She was earnest. "Yes, the servants. You might not think about them, but I am one."

He rolled off to the side. "You are not!"

"I'm the governess." Cautiously she stood, moving as if every muscle ached. "I'm also a lady, and I work for a living. I am neither above stairs nor below stairs, and the servants will make me very aware of what they think."

"If they dare, you tell me and I will—"

"You can't dismiss them all." She picked up her clothing.

Observing the stretch of muscles beneath that glowing skin gave him a primitive sense of accomplishment. He'd made her his.

She continued, "Every one of them knows. They've probably got their ears pressed against the portal right now."

Savagely, he gazed at the door. If he jerked it open now, how many servants would fall in the room? How many could he terrify with one loud shout? Remembering the earlier, incoherent and extremely identifiable sounds he and Pamela had made, he said, "We could have been quieter."

Wide-eyed with instantaneous dismay, she covered her mouth.

No! He wanted to take the words back. He adored her soft moans of arousal, the louder notes of orgasm, the fading whimpers of exhaustion. Going to her, he wrapped her in his embrace. "Not you. It was me who shouted. I was the one who was too loud. You were very ladylike."

In the stinging tone he had come to relish, she replied, "I have never heard a lady make sounds such as I did."

He chuckled. "No, you wouldn't have, would you? But you were not loud." He didn't want her self-conscious and embarrassed the next time. Although, damn it, she was right about one thing. He couldn't treat her like a mistress if he wanted her to wife. His grandfather would take him to task. Hell,
Beth
would take him to task. He would have to convince Pamela another way. But he had charm in abundance, and she had proved to be susceptible. With patience and seduction, he would bring her around to his way of thinking.

Releasing her, he went behind the screen and fetched the green velvet robe. He brought it and reluctantly held it out for her to put on. The curve of hip to waist, the long legs, the glimpse of breast… he couldn't believe he was dressing this woman when all he wanted was to take her to his room, place her on his bed and marvel at her perfection. "I will walk you to your bedchamber, and should we meet anyone I will make it clear you and I have been having an innocent discussion in here."

"For
how
many hours?" She slipped her arms into the sleeves. "In our nightclothes? Or rather—
your
night-clothes?"

"And
that they are to treat you with the greatest respect or they will find themselves personally thrown into the street by me." Turning her toward him, he rolled up the overlong sleeves and frowned at the hem that draped about her feet.

"You take your role in my downfall very seriously."

Outraged, he said, "That was not a downfall. How dare you call it a downfall?"

Her mouth, wide and rosy from his kisses, quirked in a smile. "That was a misnomer. Actually, it was more of a slip."

That pleased him no more. "A slip?"

"A… pleasurable interlude?"

"Yes." He nodded. He agreed with that. "Very pleasurable. Also, I would like to point out the obvious. Any tinge of disgrace would be readily wiped clean by a judicious application of the wedding ceremony."

Her wide, rosy mouth tightened. "No."