Sally MacKenzie Bundle (106 page)

Her eyes traveled slowly from his groin to his face, stopping along the way to examine his stomach, his chest, his throat. When she finally met his gaze, he was delighted to see innocent need reflected there. “Yes.” Her tongue peeked out to wet her lips. “Yes, that might be a good idea.”

“Sweetheart, trust me—it is a wonderful idea.” He sat on the bed. “And I can think of some things we can do to take your mind off ghosts of any sort.”

“Really?” Emma whispered. “What might those things be?”

He reached out slowly and stroked the side of one breast. “They involve touching.”

“Mmm.” Emma’s eyes closed, and her tongue slid out again. “Touching is good.”

He put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her so she was on her back instead of her belly.

“Very good.” He stroked the other breast, cupped and lifted it. It filled his hand so well, its weight just right. His thumb circled around her nipple, skirting the center.

Emma made a funny little noise in her throat. She arched her back, thrusting her breast farther into his hold.

“God, sweetheart, you are perfect.”

“I am…I am…so…hot,” she said. He watched her swallow, watched her lovely throat move. “Please. I need you. I need your…touch. Everywhere.”

He drew his finger along the inside of her breast
up to her neck and rubbed his thumb over the pulse beating there. “Love, you cannot imagine how delighted I am to hear you say so. And I will be even more delighted to accommodate you—in a moment.”

“No. Now.”

“Ah, sweets. So demanding! I see that I am destined to be your slave—which I will be, willingly, on one condition.”

“What?”

“That you marry me.” He took the Knightsdale betrothal ring from the night table where he had put it before he’d gone ghost hunting. “I won’t lay another finger—or anything else—on you until you agree to wed me.”

“All right.” Emma reached for the ring. Charles held it away.

“No, no, my impatient little love. This is a choice you are making forever. Think—if you can. Once I slide this ring on your finger, you are committed. You will be my wife, the mother of my children.”

Charles paused, listening to his own words. The sapphire in the family ring caught the candlelight. Giving it to Emma was another tie binding him to Knightsdale. He expected to feel a sinking in the pit of his stomach. He expected to feel trapped. He did not. He felt certain. He knew Emma was the woman for him.

And he felt anticipation. Great anticipation. Her lovely body was spread before him, every inch glowing in the candlelight. As soon as he had his ring on her finger…

“Say yes, Emma. I need you.”

She looked at the ring and then at him. “But do you love me?”

He grinned. “Yes, sweetheart, I believe that I do. I know I feel something for you that I have never felt
before. Just thinking about you makes me happy—and other things.”

“What other things?”

Charles laughed. “Hot. Hungry. Hard. Insane with desire.”

“Oh. That sounds a trifle uncomfortable.”

“It is more than a trifle uncomfortable, love. Marriage to you is my only cure, I fear. If you reject me, I shall expire right here in your bed and quite possibly the Draysmith line will die with me. The title will pass to dear Cousin Aubrey, who, according to Aunt Bea, is disinclined or incapable of fathering an heir.”

“You are being ridiculous, my lord.”

“I am definitely
not
being ridiculous, Miss Peterson. I am being utterly and completely honest. I am in desperate straits. I am in agony. If you don’t consent to wed me right here and now, I will go mad. I am certain of it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It is, sweetheart. Trust me. I feel my sanity slipping as we speak. Say you’ll marry me. Please. Say yes.”

Emma grinned. “Yes.”

Charles laughed. “Yes? That’s it?”

“Yes, please.”

“I don’t suppose you love me?”

“I don’t suppose I do.”

Charles frowned. He had assumed…He had thought if he loved her, she would of course…But of course not.

She rolled over on her side, leaning up on her elbow, and reached out to rub the furrow between his brows. “I don’t suppose I love you, you looby—I
know
I love you. I have loved you since I was six years old, though it didn’t feel quite like this then.”

“No, I don’t suppose it did.” He felt dizzy with relief.

“I tried to deny it, to ignore it, but it wouldn’t go away—even when you would not say you loved me.”

“I’m sorry….”

Emma put her fingers on his lips. “Enough talking. I, too, find myself on the verge of madness. You said you would touch me if I agreed to marry you. I’ve agreed, so…”

“Ah, yes. So gauche of me to delay. Give me your left hand, sweetheart.” He slipped his ring on her finger. “There.” He kissed her palm. “Now, I believe you have done your part, haven’t you? I can only do mine.”

“Yes. Please. Now.”

“I am your slave to command. Where would you like to be touched first?”

Emma flushed. “Do I have to say?”

“Hmm, perhaps I can guess. Your nose? Your eyebrows? Your cheek?” Charles let his lips follow his words, kissing each part of Emma’s face in turn, slipping off her spectacles and putting them on the night table.

“No. Yes. Oh.”

“You are not terribly coherent, Miss Peterson.”

She turned as red as a beet and looked him in the eye. “My breasts, Lord Knightsdale. I should like you to touch my breasts.”

“Ah, your breasts. What a splendid idea. They are very lovely breasts, aren’t they? I should be happy to touch them. Ecstatic.”

Charles smiled as Emma arched up when he grazed one of her lovely breasts with the edge of his hand.

He could see it was going to be a splendid night.

Charles’s hands felt
wonderful
. They were large and warm and they were moving over her. This was much better than the time by the lake. Lovemaking was greatly improved by a soft bed and a closed door. And the absence of clothes. Definitely. She ran her fingers over the hard, curved muscles in his upper arms.

There was one problem. His hands were scrupulously avoiding the area she most wanted them to touch. She whimpered and arched up, trying to encourage him. He chuckled.

“So impatient, sweetheart. I will get to every lovely inch of you. We have all night.”

“I want you to get to this particular inch
now.”

“Ah, I see I am betrothed to a shrew. A bossy”—he drew one finger up her breast from her rib cage to just below her nipple—“strong-willed”—he circled her nipple, avoiding the aching center—“termagant.” His thumb flicked over the hard nub. She squeaked and her hips lifted off the bed.

“Was that a happy sound?”

“Yes. Lud, yes. Your mouth. Your tongue. I need them there, like at the lake. Please.”

“Oh? Like this?”

He bent his head. His tongue rasped over her aching nipple, finally. He sucked, drawing her into his mouth. She felt it all the way to the hot, wet place between her legs. She threaded her fingers through his curls, holding him to her breast. She never wanted him to stop.

He stroked down to her waist and splayed his hand across her stomach. She squirmed. If his hand would just move an inch or two lower…

“Sweetheart, you can wriggle all you want—I am not hurrying.” He grinned down at her. He sounded
so self-satisfied, so confident. She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. He turned his face to kiss her palm.

“It’s a game, sweets, a teasing game. Each touch brings you closer to the edge.” His thumb brushed over her navel. “Closer and closer, little touch by little touch, until on the last touch, you explode.”

“Hmm. So I should touch you, too?” Emma smoothed the curly hair across his chest, explored his nipples, then started the long journey down the intriguing line over his stomach to his…

He inhaled, jerking back. He wasn’t grinning any longer.

“Don’t you want me to touch you?”

“Emma, I would love it…next time. This time I wouldn’t last a second. And I want this to be good for you.” He frowned slightly, bending toward her breast. “As good as it can be, for a first time.”

“What—oh!” Emma didn’t understand, but she stopped caring the moment Charles’s lips touched her nipple. He sucked hard as he dipped one finger into the wet heat at her center.

Her hips lifted off the bed and she gripped his shoulders. She needed something to hold on to in the sensual whirlpool where his mouth and hands had thrown her.

She panted, her hips twisting. She needed to feel Charles’s weight.

As if he read her mind, he pulled her tight against him. His finger still played with her, slipping in and out, rubbing her wetness over the hard little nub of sensation hidden there. She had never known…never imagined. Her naked breasts were pressed against Charles’s bare chest. This was so much better than the time at the lake. This was…

…unbearable. Her breath caught and she pulsed
against Charles’s hand, her nipples peaking and her insides turning to liquid.

“Now, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, “while you are still wet.”

He moved between her legs, putting the pokey thing where his finger had been. He pushed slowly inside her.

“What?”

“Shh. Relax, sweetheart.”

He inched farther in. She felt herself stretching.

“I don’t think you’ll fit, Charles.”

“Shh. Don’t think. I will…fit. Oh, God, Emma, you are so tight.”

“Is that good?” He sounded like he might be in pain. She was feeling a little pain herself.

“It…is…wonderful.” He pushed forward until he was fully inside her.

“Ouch.” Emma tried to move, but his weight kept her pinned to the bed.

“Don’t…move.” His face was buried in her neck.

Once she got over the shock, she rather liked the feel of him. The pain was easing. She stroked her hands up his sweat-slick back.

“This is how babies are made, love.” He lifted himself on his elbows and moved his hips. “I spill my…seed”—his hips flexed, pushing him into her—“deep”—he moved in and out again—“inside”—again—“you.” He surged forward and held there. Emma felt something warm spurt into her.

“Mmm.” Charles relaxed onto her. She threaded her fingers through his hair. She was having a little trouble breathing, but that was all right.

She was having a little trouble thinking. Feeling was about all she could manage…the weight of his
body on hers, the soreness between her legs. And the fullness. He was still there, still inside her.

Some permanent connection had been forged between them, beyond the obvious physical one. She didn’t understand it yet, nor could she explain it, but she knew it had happened.

She felt very married.

“God, Emma.”

Charles raised his head to smile down at her, and her heart turned over. His eyes held a look of such…possession. No, it was more than that. Acceptance? She felt as if she had just stepped through a door, and now she was with him. Just the two of them. Together. She smiled back.

“Mmm.” Apparently lucidity was eluding him as well. He bent his head and kissed her slowly, thoroughly. It was definitely possession this time—she was filled by him. By his tongue and his…

“I’m too heavy for you.” He lifted himself off her. She felt empty and cold. “And you are probably sore.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He climbed out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Emma did not want to spend the rest of the night alone. “You said you would stay and protect me.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I am definitely not leaving your bed for long.” He vanished through the connecting door. She heard him rummaging in his wardrobe.

“Here we are. I took the precaution of locking my door—don’t want to surprise poor Henderson, do we?”

Emma flushed. “No. Definitely not.”

He locked her door, too, then came back to the bed. He had something in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“An old cravat. Sorry, the water is a bit cold.” He reached between her legs.

“What are you doing?” Emma tried to close her thighs, but Charles’s hand was already there. She scooted up the bed. “That is cold.”

“I know, love. I’m sorry. I’m just cleaning you up.”

“Cleaning me up?”

Charles showed her the blood-stained cravat. “Your maidenhead, sweetheart. It’s only a little bit of blood, and it will only happen this once.”

“Let me do that.” Emma was mortified. She hated messes.

“No, love. It is my pleasure. Did I hurt you very much?”

“No. Just a little.”

“I am sorry. Trust me, when we do this again, you will have only pleasure.”

Charles was still wiping the wet cravat over her. It felt extremely…odd, having him do something so intimate. The slight roughness of the linen and the cold of the water made her stomach flutter. And he was actually
looking
at her. He combed his fingers through the hair growing there. Surely that was inappropriate?

“Um.” What had Charles been saying? Oh, God, he was running his finger around, um…and she could feel him spreading the, um, lips of the, uh…“It was very nice in the beginning.” She swallowed, trying to close her legs again, but he would not let her. He blew on her, and she shuddered.

“And it will be very nice the next time we do it—in the beginning, the middle, and the end.” He dropped the stained cravat and grinned up at her. “You know, I think I should kiss your hurt and make it better.”

“What—what do you mean?”

“This.”

Emma stared as Charles bent his head. He couldn’t mean to…No, it wasn’t possible….

She felt his warm breath on the secret place between her legs, then the lovely, wet rasp of his tongue.

C
HAPTER
14

Charles dreamt a woman’s hand was on a very private part of his anatomy.

This was not the confident touch of an experienced whore. No, it was hesitant, glancing, as if the woman were afraid to do what she was doing.
Don’t be afraid. Please, God, don’t be afraid.
He rolled slowly farther onto his back, spreading his legs, giving the questing fingers plenty of room to work their magic. And magic they were definitely working.