Sally MacKenzie Bundle (213 page)

“Are you all right?” A slight frown formed a line between his brows. Oh, damn. She didn’t want to get him thinking again.

“I’ll be better when you put me down on your bed.”

He grinned. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Thank God. Finally she would get what she wanted.

Was
this all she wanted?

No. She wasn’t going to think, either. She was just going to feel. She’d deal with tomorrow tomorrow. Life was too uncertain—and she was certain she didn’t want to wait another moment to learn what Edmund could teach her.

He lowered her to the sheets; they were soft against her skin. His mattress was large and firm. Had generations of viscounts been conceived here?

She wouldn’t think of the past either. The present was all she had; all she wanted.

Edmund followed her onto the bed, covering half her body with his. She felt the length of his erection heavy along the inside of her thigh. She was so damp, aching for him.

His mouth explored hers, his tongue stroking, soothing, promising mysterious delights, while his hand cupped her breast and his thumb rubbed back and forth, back and forth, teasing her nipple to a hard, tight peak. She arched up, but all she could do was press against him. His body was as unyielding as a stone wall, trapping her close to the mattress.

Did she feel trapped—or protected? Whichever, she did not want to escape.

His mouth left hers and trailed over her cheek to her jaw, while his fingers kept playing with her nipple.

“Ohh.” She spread her legs farther apart. She was so hot, all of her, but especially there, between her legs.

“Do you like that, Jane?” His words tickled her ear.

“Mmm. Yes.”

He chuckled. “Good. Perhaps you’ll like this as well.”

His lips moved to her collarbone and then down to her breasts. Wonderful—but his clever fingers had abandoned their play. She frowned. His mouth and hands teased, touching everything else. Her poor nipples pouted at the neglect, tightening into hard, aching points. She arched and moaned, but Edmund refused to take the hint. Could she thread her fingers through his hair and pull him to where she needed him? She was desperate enough to attempt it.

He laughed, sending a tiny current of air over her skin. “Patience, Jane. That’s the way the game is played. The longer you wait, the more the need builds until finally it explodes.” He drew a lazy circle around her nipple with his tongue, still not touching the point. She made a little sound—not quite a growl, not quite a whine. She felt his mouth pull into a smile against her breast.

“Skeptical, are you?” he said. He leaned over and finally flicked her nipple with his tongue.

She squeaked, jerking as a flash of exquisite sensation shot to the ache between her legs. Oh, my. And then he sucked the nipple into his mouth, and another bolt of liquid need surged through her. Her hips twisted on the bed. She required his attention
there.

His hands gripped her, holding her still, as his mouth moved lower. The room’s air chilled the wet nubs he’d left behind, but that was all right. That other part of her was demanding his attention—crying for it, if the growing dampness was any indication. But what would he—

Oh! Who would have thought it? She would never have imagined…His
mouth
was on her. His
tongue.
It touched one particular spot, flicked over it…She grabbed the sheets with both hands and arched her back.

Her world narrowed to that tiny point of flesh. Edmund had no pity—each slide of his tongue wound her tighter and tighter. She was going to fly off into a thousand pieces; she was—

She caught her breath, bit her lip. She was on the edge now. It—whatever
it
was—was almost here. She was going to…do something in just an instant…

Edmund’s tongue touched her one last time.

“Ohh.” Her hips jerked and then wave after wave of drenching pleasure swept through her.

Mmm. She felt satiated, every part of her body heavy and relaxed—boneless. Wonderful, but…she frowned. Something was missing. She looked up at Edmund. He appeared to be exceedingly pleased with himself, but also a little…tense.

Because he
was
tense, of course. He moved and she felt his erection brush against her leg. He was still very hard and thick—that didn’t seem right. He’d given her release, but he hadn’t taken it himself.

“We aren’t finished.” She ran her finger over his cheek; it was rough with the faint shadow of his beard. “You aren’t finished.”

He smiled, though the expression was definitely strained. “No. I’m not.”

He
should
be finished, he thought. He should kiss her quickly and lift himself away from temptation. The bath-water was still in the room. It might be chilly enough to cool his ardor a little. But, dear God, he wanted to be inside her so badly he could taste it. He swallowed. All right—he could taste her. She was still sweet on his tongue, and her scent filled his every breath.

He would send her back to her room, and use his hand to ease his discomfort. Or he could show her how to give him release. She did not have to give up her virginity to save him pain. They could wait. They
should
wait.

He didn’t want to wait. Jane was here in his bed—the bed where generations of Smyths had been conceived. She would be his wife before God and the law soon. He wanted—needed—to make her the wife of his body now.

He felt her hands running down his back, pulling him closer. She arched her hips and pressed her wet heat against his leg. “What are you waiting for?” She gave him a saucy smile. “A personal invitation? I thought I’d already extended that, but if you need another…” She shifted so she found his tip and rubbed herself against it. “Please, Edmund. Please come inside.”

She didn’t need to ask twice.

He kissed her, slow and deep—the last thing he was going to do slow for a while, though deep…yes, he would be as deep inside her as he could be. Mmm. And he would stay there, and give her his seed and, God willing, a child.

But first he had to get inside, and that would not be so pleasant for her. Best get it done as quickly as possible.

He thrust his hips forward.

“Ow!”

He held still and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry. It will only hurt this first time.”

She made a disgruntled little sound. “I suppose it didn’t hurt you the first time you did it?”

“N—no. I don’t believe it did.”

“It’s not fair. Men should have to experience the same trials women do.”

“Um.” He was not capable of an extended conversation at the moment. His mind was overwhelmed by his cock, by the exquisite sensation of being buried deep in Jane’s lovely, tight, wet heat.

“We will have to do it again,” she said, “so I can see what it is like without the pain.”

“Um.” His cock throbbed in agreement. “Yes. Indeed.”
Many times.
But first he needed to finish this time. His body was clamoring for him to move. “Are you all right?”

“I suppose so.”

“Hold on, then. I’ll be quick.” He pulled back and then surged forward. Once, twice, and once again, holding deep inside her as bliss slammed through him and his seed spurted into her, into the woman he loved.

He collapsed; he couldn’t have moved if Satan had burst through his door that very moment.

He’d never before felt such complete, such utter peace. Normally he spilled his seed on the bed—he wanted no by-blows—paid his money, grabbed his breeches, and left. But this time he wanted to stay, wanted Jane to stay and sleep in his bed all night.

But she couldn’t. Her mother and the aunts would be home shortly.

“Mmm. That was nice,” Jane murmured by his ear, “after the part that hurt, of course.” Her hands slid down his back to hug his arse closer. “When can we do it again?”

His traitorous cock started to swell eagerly. “Not now.” He flexed his hips backward, breaking her hold and lifting himself off her. “You have to be sore.” He stretched out next to her.

“Maybe a little.” She snuggled against him. “Will I be better tomorrow?”

“I think so.” He ran his hand over her hip. The minx lifted her leg and draped it over his. He removed it. “But you have to go back to your own room now.”

“I don’t want to.” She snuggled closer. “I want to stay here.”

He brushed her hair back from her face and ran his hand down her side. “You don’t want your mother to find you here, do you?”

She stilled. “No.” She threw a worried look at the door. “Do you think they are back from Lord Fonsby’s yet? Mama might stop to check on me.”

“It is probably too early, but we’d best not take any chances.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

He kissed her quickly. “I wish you could stay. I know you came to…” He paused. Wait a minute. When he’d first seen Jane, she’d been hiding under his bed. He frowned. “Why
did
you come to my room?”

“Er.” Jane looked extremely guilty.

Chapter 16

“I came looking for the piece of Clarence’s sketch we found at the Harley Street gallery this afternoon.” Edmund wouldn’t get angry, would he? Not after the wonderful activity they’d just shared. Though perhaps it wasn’t quite so wondrous for him—he
had
done it before with other women.

She found she did not care for that thought at all.

“I’m sorry for invading your privacy,” she said, “but I got the distinct impression you weren’t planning on showing me the drawing.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What?”
She sat up, and his eyes dropped to her chest. “Stop that!” She hauled the coverlet up to block his view—and uncovered his splendid chest and waist and…

She tore her gaze back to his face. “How could you think not to show it to me? I was the one who found it. I found every single piece of that sketch. You can’t keep it from me.”

“I can. I have.” His face looked like the cliffs of Dover. All warmth and tenderness had vanished. She wanted to grab him, shake him, knock some sense into him.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew banging her head against a rock would only give her a colossal headache. Still, she had to try. “Be reasonable, Edmund.”

“I am being reasonable. Satan is involved, and, as you discovered this afternoon, his involvement is not to be taken lightly. I will not allow you to put yourself in danger”—he covered her belly with his hand—“especially now that you may be carrying my child.”

His child? Oh, dear God. The man wasn’t just being overly protective because he was a man and she was a woman, but because he saw his line endangered. Surely she wasn’t enceinte.

“So if we hadn’t”—she waved her hand at the bed—“you know. If we hadn’t done this, you’d let me see the sketch?”

“Of course not. I want you safe. The possibility of a child just strengthens my resolve.”

He really could do a fine imitation of the cliffs of Dover; in fact, they could take lessons in impassiveness from him.

“But what harm can it do just to show me the paper?” She dropped the coverlet to spread out her arms; Edmund’s eyes didn’t move from her face—a bad sign. “Look around. We are the only ones in the room. Satan will never know.”

“No.”

“But I helped you with the other clues. I might be able to help you with this one, too. Have you looked at the drawing yet?”

Edmund glared at her. “No, I didn’t have time.”

“Then you don’t know if you need my help or not.”

A frown creased his brow and his mouth took on a mulish line. “I don’t need your help.”

She leaned forward and poked him in his lovely, naked chest. “Remember, you had to ask Stephen to identify the
Magnolia grandiflora
in the first part of the sketch, and I had to help you find the tree in Lord Palmerson’s garden.”

He shrugged, making his muscles move in a very interesting way, and pushed her hand away. “That was the first part.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes; he obviously realized the power of her argument.

“And you would never have discovered the second piece had anything to do with the Harley Street gallery if I hadn’t puzzled it out.”

He shrugged again.

“So why do you think you’ll be able to make sense of this third part of the drawing by yourself?”

Had he growled? He looked frustrated enough to have done so. “Let me see it, Edmund. Please?”

He let out a long, annoyed breath. “Oh, all right.” He swung out of bed and walked naked to his desk. Mmm. With his strong legs and muscled back and buttocks, he looked like a statue of a Greek god come to life.

She scrambled off the mattress and found her nightgown under the bed. “I already looked in your desk.”

“I know. The sand I left on the top was disturbed.”

“Oh. And here I thought you were just not very tidy.” She slipped the nightgown over her head and went to stand next to him. How could he be so casual about his nakedness? She couldn’t look anywhere but at him. She ran her hand over his arse and around toward—

He stepped out of her reach. “I thought you wanted to see Clarence’s sketch.”

“I do.” His penis had gone from dangling by his legs to standing straight out from his body in a matter of seconds. Fascinating. She reached for him, but he dodged her hand, stooping quickly to pick up his towel and wrap it around his waist.

“You have an odd way of showing your interest.”

“Oh?” How could she show more interest? He kept dancing away from her.

“In the sketch! Your interest in Clarence’s sketch.” He made an exasperated noise, half sigh, half laugh. “
Will
you stop looking at me like that?”

“Hmm?” The towel didn’t do a very good job of hiding his penis. It looked rather like he’d affixed a small tent to his front. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted to eat—Oh, never mind.” He opened one of the desk drawers—a completely empty drawer, she knew since she’d looked in it earlier—and fished around inside. She heard a little click. Then he pulled on what she’d thought was merely some decorative carving on the back of the desk. A section of the desk swung open, revealing a narrow space behind it. Edmund pulled out a piece of paper.

“How clever! I never would have found that.”