Sattler, Veronica (72 page)

Ashleigh
was unprepared for the sensations that were rapidly assaulting her body. He'd
barely touched her, and she was on fire!

"Brett,"
she breathed. "I... I..."

But
he knew what she wanted. His own hunger was thrumming his pulses, and when he
read the need in her eyes, he shuddered as a shock of desire rocked him.

Then
he was sweeping her up into his arms, the jacket he'd wrapped her in falling to
the floor as he carried her to the bed. There he laid her down quickly, and
then his hands flew to his cravat, which he tore away with deft fingers.

"Beautiful,"
he murmured as his eyes lingered on her face a moment, then fell to her lush
breasts, "so beautiful."

His
shirt joined the cravat on the floor, and as she drank in the stark male beauty
of him—the broad shoulders, the muscular chest covered with whorls of dark
chestnut hair—Ashleigh could wait no longer. Reaching up her arms to him, she
cried, "Brett, please! I... I need you!"

He
made a sound like a low growl in his throat and instantly joined her on the
bed. Pulling her to him, he exulted in the feel of her bare breasts against his
skin, their nipples already hard with desire. "So anxious, my love?"
he murmured huskily into her hair. "But we shouldn't rush it, you
know," he added as he raised his head to capture her eyes. "We—"
he brushed her lips lightly, teasingly, with his "—have," he added as
his mouth trailed down her throat, "...a lifetime...." The word
barely left his lips before they found the aching peak of one rosy-tipped
breast and drew it into his mouth.

Ashleigh
felt a jolt of pleasure sluice through her, moving from where he held her with
his mouth to the juncture of her thighs. With a moan, she drove her fingers
into his curls, while at the same time she began to twist and writhe under the
sensations that were assaulting her body. "Brett," she gasped,
"oh, Brett, hurry!"

Brett
heard her, felt her response, and was enflamed by it. He wanted to go slowly,
to savor what they'd waited for for so long, but it seemed she would have none
of it.

With
a shaky laugh, he raised his head to look at her again. "So it's to be
love in a hurry, is it? Faith, but you're a delicious wanton, my darling,"
he teased, "but I think we ought to take... our... time...." His
thumbs were teasing too, as they brushed her nipples, and Ashleigh moaned again,
deep in her throat.

Then
his mouth came down on hers in a kiss that didn't stop. His tongue found the
seam between her lips and slipped between as she parted them for him, hungrily,
her own tongue darting to meet his. Tongue meeting tongue, they tasted of each
other, withdrew, then tasted again.

His
hand moved to her bodice and he rolled with her, pulling her against him with
the other while he finished the work he'd begun earlier and removed her gown.
Her petticoats soon followed, and then he was kneeling beside her on the bed as
he slipped off her kid dancing slippers. His fingers went to the top of a silk
stocking and he began to bare her leg, bending to plant feather-light kisses
along the exposed flesh until the silk fell away and he was tasting the delicious
curves of her toes, sucking on them, slipping between them with his tongue.

The
sensation was unlike any she'd ever felt. Her body tingled in a thousand
places, but all joined to drive a burning message to the core of her femininity
where she felt moisture gathering, making her ready for him.

But
Brett took his time, sharply quelling his own need, to give her pleasure.
Murmuring her name and his love for her again and again, he repeated the
process with the other stocking, raising her toes to his mouth once again.

He
stroked her calves with his hands, and then her thighs. One hand trailed across
her flat abdomen before coming to rest on the nest of raven curls below.

Ashleigh
sucked in her breath at this touch and heard him laugh lightly. Then she saw
him above her again, and his eyes found hers while a hand cupped her breast and
the one below gently parted her thighs, and then his finger slid between,
entering her slippery warmth.

"Oh!"
she gasped and saw him smile.

"Oh,
what, love?" he whispered. His eyes were hard with desire and focused
relentlessly on her face as he withdrew his finger and passed it over the tiny
bud above. "Tell me," he persisted as he stroked the pulsing nub
once, twice, a third time.... "Tell me what pleasures you, Ashleigh, and
I'll—"

"Brett!"
she
cried, and then she was beyond words. Intense spirals of pleasure began
emanating from deep within her, flinging her into a world where there was only
Brett and his touch. She felt her whole body shake with it, her thighs eagerly
parting yet farther for him, her hands reaching about his neck to pull him
closer. Ah, she had to have him closer!

And
finally Brett could wait no longer. Satisfied that he had brought her to the
brink of fulfillment, he now prepared to join her in the ultimate pleasure. He
pulled away only long enough to remove the rest of his clothes, then wrapped
her in an embrace that was fierce, his need shuddering through him as he
murmured into her hair, "Oh, God, Ashleigh! I cannot get enough of you!
Sweet, sweet wife of my heart, my life, how I need you... God, how I love
you!"

And
with this he raised himself above her trembling frame and pushed her thighs
apart with his own, his turgid, throbbing maleness seeking entry. And then he
drove it home.

A
renewed surge of desire came on the heels of Ashleigh's pleasure of moments
before, and just when she thought she couldn't bear it, she felt him enter her,
and the feeling was so intense, she cried his name aloud.

But
Brett captured her cry with his mouth as he thrust, then thrust again, then
harder, still, as he felt her body arc up to meet his in perfect rhythm.

Again
and again, their bodies pulsed together, man joined to woman, she, sheathed
around him, he, deep inside her in the age-old movements that, for the two of
them, were also fresh and new and wondrous.

Finally
Ashleigh felt herself spinning, spiraling in a vortex of pleasure so intense,
she could do naught but give herself up to it. She heard Brett hoarsely call
her name, urging her on with him, and all the while she felt she was getting
closer... closer....

And
then it happened. A white-hot shaft of pleasure drew her mind from her body,
her sense from her feeling, and all about her the universe danced at her feet
while time itself stood still. Brett cried her name and she felt him convulse,
felt his seed pumping into her, seeking a home, and then she was sobbing her
pleasure, her love for him, until she thought she would never stop.

Minutes
passed, and the ticking of the clock on the mantel began to make itself heard
over their ragged breathing. Sated and replete, they lay on their sides, facing
each other with their thighs entwined, their bodies still locked together as
one.

Ashleigh's
face was buried in his shoulder, her swirling hair, long since loosed from its
pins, tangled about their shoulders and arms. He took her hand and raised her
fingers to his lips, where he began to kiss each one with exquisite tenderness.

"I
love you," he whispered as his lips brushed each delicate tip, "I
love you... love you... love you...."

Ashleigh
opened her lips against his shoulder, uttering a soft, ecstatic cry. "Oh,
Brett!" she managed.
"My
Brett!" Then, wonderingly,
"Are you really mine, my darling?"

He
raised his head and braced himself on one elbow to look at her. "For as
long as you want me, love," he breathed.

"Forever,"
came the hushed reply.

Brett
closed his eyes, drinking in the scent of her, then the warm, musky scent of
their lovemaking. He swallowed past the lump of emotion that lodged in his
throat when he thought of all they'd suddenly found together, and of how close
they'd come to missing it.

He
opened his eyes to find Ashleigh gazing at him, a look of total adoration on
her face, and he smiled into her eyes, then kissed each one tenderly.

"Never,"
he told her solemnly, "if I live to be a hundred and ten, will I ever
forget this night... this night of miracles, with you at its center. In some
ways, this is the beginning of my life, love. Whatever went before has little
meaning, compared to now."

He
pulled away from her then, and feeling him slipping from her encasing warmth,
Ashleigh nearly cried out. But he quickly drew her attention as he smiled and
ran his fingers along the chain that encircled his neck.

When
he'd removed it, she saw that a whole locket replaced the half that had once
been there. He smiled and parted it to show her the miniature portrait of the
child he'd been.

"My
mother thought I should have the other half," he murmured.

But
then she saw him slip another object from the chain, and, before she knew it,
he was taking her left hand, grasping its third finger, and slipping it on. It
was her wedding ring—the one she'd dashed into a corner of this very room in
anger!

The
ring in place, he slowly, almost reverently, bent his head and kissed her
finger. Then his head came up and his eyes locked with hers.

"With
this ring, I thee wed," he whispered huskily.

"And
I, thee," she answered, tears of joy brimming in her eyes.

"And
know this, my love," he murmured softly. "From now until I draw my
final breath, you are my life... you, and the child brought forth from this
strange and wondrous love at last gone right... and the children God, in his
infinite wisdom, might see fit to bless us with in the future. Nothing else
matters.... Can you believe that?"

Ashleigh's
answer was a kiss that stole his breath away. "Nothing else matters,"
she echoed in a breathless whisper, "nothing...."

And
then speech ceased as they found themselves in each other's arms again, and
words became unnecessary, and nothing else mattered.

Ashleigh
relaxed against the plush squabs lining the seats of Brett's brougham while it
sped along the road leading to Kent. She smiled as she observed the handsome
profile of her husband, who was sitting across from her and gazing out the
window; she was remembering another time she'd sat in this carriage and studied
him thusly, and she couldn't help thinking of the differences in their
positions then and now.

Was
it really almost a year since they'd met? So much had happened in that time,
and yet it scarcely seemed possible. And sometimes it still didn't seem
possible that the beloved profile she viewed once belonged to a man as brooding
and remote as a distant star. Today that face seemed ever at ease and given to
ready laughter. His wonderful turquoise eyes, once so mocking and cold, now
danced with good humor and smiled their perpetual warmth at the whole world.

Love,
she
thought as she hugged his adored presence to her, in her mind,
it can make
all things possible.

She
closed her eyes for a moment, savoring a recollection of their last hours alone
together. He had awakened her in the predawn this morning, with a delicious
nuzzling of her ear and then that susceptible area where her neck and shoulder
joined; at the same time his hands had been most industrious, one playing with
the peaks of her breasts while the other had slipped between her thighs to seek
softer flesh.

Thus
she had been awakened, barely finding consciousness before realizing she was
already hot and moist between her thighs for him, prompting a sleepy demand, to
Brett's grinning delight, that he take her immediately—which, of course, he
obliged. Later, she'd found herself blushing at her wanton antics, but Brett
had merely laughed and held her close, saying it was time she ceased to be
disturbed by a part of her nature he cherished. And she was forced to admit he
was right; she should hardly be surprised by it, when such had been a regular
occurrence with them during the month they'd remained in London, the month
since that wonderful night after the cotillion at Almack's.

The
pages of her mind flipped back over the days that had passed since then. After
spending the first week largely closeted together in their private rooms—
almost
satisfying their hunger for each other after the separations that had gone
before, she mused with a smile—they had ventured out to attend the various
balls and parties at which their presence was eagerly requested. To Ashleigh's
astonishment, the duke and duchess of Ravensford had suddenly become the
darlings of the
ton!
Their romantic and, some thought, glamorous story
both intrigued and fascinated that closed society that detested the mundane and
was always ready to be amused and charmed by the lives of its more interesting
members.

A
frown marred her brow as she reminded herself that sometimes this interest did
not extend to amusement or being charmed; sometimes it brought harsh censure
and disdain. To wit, many of their acquaintances were shocked and horrified by
the news that the poet Shelley had abandoned his pregnant wife, Harriet, to
elope with his mistress, Mary Godwin—
who was also carrying his child!
Though
Shelley had never exactly been one of the
haut ton,
he was born of the
upper classes, and if his behavior had been eyebrow-raising before, he was a
social pariah now.