The Viscount's Kiss (16 page)

She must put her father's possible return out of her mind for now and concentrate on the present situation. “Because she
hoped
I was your mistress and would have the power to persuade you to stay in England.”

His eyes widened, and as if even his hair was surprised, that lock tumbled over his forehead again. “What did you say to that?”

“That I was not, and even if I thought I could convince you to stay in England, which I surely couldn't, I wouldn't.”

“I see,” he replied as he reached for the kettle and shook
it to see if there was water within, his expression as grave as if he were making medicine. “How did she respond?”

“She asked me to stay here as her companion. I fear your father is not the most comforting of men.”

“No,” he agreed as he added more water to the kettle from the pitcher on the sideboard, “and certainly not where I'm concerned.”

He spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, telling her—if she had any doubt—just how little power she had over him, regardless of any tender feelings he might have for her.

Which was just as well. “I won't be able to stay now, of course.”

He glanced at her before he put the kettle on the crane and pushed it over the fire he must have kindled. “Why?”

“My father is a convicted felon, and I'm in danger of being arrested, too,” she reminded him.

“I don't think you need fear for your own fate. Drury and his solicitor friend are quite optimistic about your circumstances. They think Sturmpole can be persuaded to forgo any charges against you to avoid exposure of his own crimes. They're not going to leave it at that, though. They both believe we should be able to find other employees who've suffered the same experience. We're all determined to put a stop to the fellow.”

Although she felt some relief, she couldn't be happy. She doubted she could ever be truly happy again. “I still think it would be better if I leave Granshire Hall as soon as possible, to spare you any difficulties that might ensue from your involvement with me.”

“If that is what you'd prefer.”

Prefer? She had no other choice. “I'm sure your mother can find another, more suitable companion.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured as the kettle began to whistle. “Where will you go?”

Somewhere. Anywhere
. It didn't matter because he would not be there. “Ireland, perhaps. Or America.”

“So far?”

“This from a man who plans to sail around the world again?” she asked, trying to hide her anguish even as she went toward him.

“I suppose it's different when you're the one sailing,” he said, turning toward her as if they were connected by a strong, if slender, thread.

Their gazes met and held until he put up his hand as if to keep her away.

“I've been planning this expedition for months,” he said, desperation in his voice, despair and determination warring in his eyes, “ever since I returned, getting the best crew and raising the funds to buy the ship. I've got the ship and the men I want, and it's only a matter of paying for provisions and setting sail. I've worked and planned for too long to abandon my expedition now. It's not just about the spiders. We could find new plants that will provide medicines and new foods that can help feed the starving. I
want
to go, Nell. I
need
to go.”

“I know,” she said softly. “That's why I would never hold you back, no matter how much I wished I could. Otherwise, you would surely come to hate me.”

“
Hate
you?” He shook his head. “I could never hate you.”

“Oh, yes, you could,” she countered, putting her hands on his arms and gripping them tightly, feeling the strength of him, the power, the pure masculinity beneath the fine fabrics and expertly tailored clothes. “If you believed I'd kept you from your work, you'd eventually come to resent
it, and me. As other men made discoveries, you would wonder what you might have found, if not for me. And who can say what achievements and discoveries my selfishness would have prevented? I won't have that on my conscience, not for all the world.”

Or even your love.

She closed her eyes as he reached up to caress her cheek, his touch sending sparks of desire, slivers of need, along her limbs.

“You understand me better than anyone, Nell Springley. Better even than myself. Thank you for letting me go, because of all the women in the world, you are the only one who could have held me here.”

His words broke her heart and filled her with pain. To know that she had that power, and that to use it would destroy him.

Yet they were together here, now. Alone. In this paradise of his.

She would make it hers, if only for a little while. She would not think of the future, or the world beyond the door. She would be with him here, now, as she yearned to be.

“Until you leave, until you sail, until then, let me be with you. Let me be your lover,” she pleaded softly yet intensely, for she had a will of iron, too, and even though he must and should leave her, she would take what joy she could while she could, if he would agree.

He shook his head. “As much as I would like that, as much as I wish it, that would make our parting all the more difficult. And I would not want to leave you with child.”

She wasn't willing to give up. Not yet. “The parting will be difficult whether we make love or not. As for children…There are ways to prevent that, are there not?”

“Theoretically,” he replied roughly, his breathing harsh and heavy, as if he fought against an unseen opponent. “I cannot speak to their effectiveness personally.”

“I'll take that risk, and if those methods fail, couldn't I go to your friends for help?”

Passion, desire, hope flared in his blue-gray eyes. “Yes—but as a gentleman, I should still say no.”

In spite of his words, he didn't move, and she needed no more assurance than that.

“No, my lord, you should be quiet and kiss me,” she murmured as she raised herself on her toes and kissed him.

B
romwell was no fool. His teachers had told him he had a brilliant intellect and praised him for his ability to think clearly and rationally.

Today, rationally, clearly, the honorable thing, the best thing, would be to stop kissing Nell, to let her go and tell her to leave him. That he meant every word he'd ever said about his goals and plans for the future, and nothing she could say or do would change that.

But as always when he was with her, his rational mind was no match for his heart, or his burning desire. He was helpless to set aside his emotions and concentrate on
anything except Nell and the feel of her in his arms, her lips on his.

It was so right, so perfect, so good, so meant to be.

Of all the women he had ever met, she was perfect for him. She understood his goals, his needs, his wants. She didn't think him eccentric or a fool because he like spiders and wanted to learn more about them. She was brave, independent, loyal, loving and strong…all the things he would want in a wife.

But most important of all, she understood why he wouldn't marry until he'd been on his expedition. She would give him the freedom to be about the work that meant so much to him.

Even so, a part of him ached to think she could let him go, even as the other part—that rational, scientific part—felt a vast and grateful relief that she would.

Yet whatever the future held, she was here now, kissing him with all the passion any man could ever hope for, and he discovered he was powerless to refuse what she so willingly offered.

His hands slid up her back, holding her closer, the sensation of her breasts against him exciting and arousing. He had seen women unclothed and doing the most heart-stoppingly sensual dances any man had ever witnessed. He had been there to see the feet-pounding, hip-swinging motions, the thrust of hips and breasts. He had been aroused and enticed, but never had he been so passionately excited, so full of desire and yearning and need, as he was now.

Surrendering to that need, and hers, he swept her into his arms and laid her on the sofa. Joining her, he covered her body with his, his hands and mouth seeking, tasting,
stroking, caressing. She shoved at his jacket and he shrugged it off. She tore off his cravat as she arched, her breasts against him, her slender throat exposed to his eager, anxious lips and tongue.

Her fingers went to his shirt. After she got his buttons undone, he ripped it from his body. Then her hands were on his naked skin, while he kissed and licked the rounded tops of her breasts above her bodice.

She raised her knees, her skirts bunching about her hips, and he stroked her leg as he propped himself on his elbow and ran his hand through her hair while he kissed her ear, her cheek, her chin.

His erection strained against his trousers, and he wanted nothing more than to tear them off, too, and make love to her as if they were two wild animals in heat.

Except that they were not.

Did she not deserve better than some hasty rutting on the worn sofa of his lab? And what if he did get her with child before he left England? That was, after all, the natural outcome of what they were about to do, the reality rising up like a spectre to haunt him and douse his desire.

With a ragged sigh, he pulled back and got to his feet. “I won't do this, Nell,” he said hoarsely, reaching for his shirt. “It isn't right, or fair to you.”

She moved to sit up as he put on his shirt, then splayed her hands on his heaving chest. “You're an honorable man, my lord,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I'm well aware of the consequences, and I accept them.”

She inched forward on the sofa and ran her palms lightly over his nipples before moving toward the buttons of his trousers. “If you won't make love with me, we can still do…things. I've read your book.”

His book? For a moment, he could scarcely remember writing one.

“The practices of some of the natives in the islands sounded very intriguing,” she said as she finished undoing the buttons. He jumped when she slipped her hand inside. “Although you were not at all specific.”

He closed his eyes as her hand encircled him. He knew precisely what passages she was referring to, the memories of what had happened on certain moonlit nights leaping vividly into his mind.

Only to disappear the moment Nell slipped from the sofa to her knees and took him into her mouth.

He groaned softly, cupping the back of her head, as she sucked and licked him, her tongue swirling around the tip until he thought he would burst. He'd never expected…dreamed….

All too soon, she stopped. He opened his eyes, to see her looking up at him with a shy smile. If she wanted to stop, he wouldn't…

And then her hand was around him, moving up and down along his shaft, grazing lightly. Faster and faster she stroked, the urge within him building, building and building until he was over the edge.

Gasping, jerking, he spilled his seed.

“I must have done that right,” she said softly, a hint of triumph in her voice, as well as the heat of desire.

“Perfect,” he murmured, blushing like a naughty schoolboy as he adjusted his trousers and did up the buttons, although his hands seemed inordinately clumsy. “I had no idea I'd been so…descriptive.”

“You weren't. I guessed,” Nell said, smiling, flushed with happiness and satisfaction. She had never even imag
ined doing anything like that, but it had seemed a natural way to give him pleasure, and since she had, she could only be pleased herself.

She rose as he reached into his trouser pocket and handed her his handkerchief.

“You are, without doubt, the most incredible woman in the world—and you have to stop calling me my lord. Especially after…after
this
. My name's Justinian, although that's quite a mouth…”

He blushed and began again, looking like the bashful schoolboy he must have been as he put on his shirt. “My father thought such a name impressive, especially if I became a politician. My friends call me Buggy. They didn't appreciate the difference between spiders and insects when they gave it to me.”

She brushed that stray lock of hair off his forehead. “That sounds like something boys would call a schoolmate, but I don't think I could call you that. You're very much a man to me.”

“Since you put it that way, I don't think I'd like you to call me that, either. I suppose my name will have to do and I'm suddenly reconciled to it,” he said, taking her in his arms and pressing a kiss upon her soft lips. “But I can't continue to call you Miss Springley. Will ‘my darling' do?”

“
My
friends call me Nell.”

He sat on the sofa and drew her down onto his lap. “Well, Nell, this is familiar. I seem to recall a young lady in precisely this position not so long ago, resulting in a most interesting experience.”

She loved it when he spoke with such apparent seriousness and answered him with the same grave tone. “It
wouldn't surprise me in the least to discover that you deliberately put that spider in the coach in a crude attempt to seduce unsuspecting young women.”

“If I'd had an inkling of your reaction, I might have, although upon further consideration, it occurs to me that there is no other woman in England I would care to have sitting on my lap.”

“So you say now.”

The merriment disappeared from his eyes. “So I truly believe, with all my heart.”

She toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt, not meeting his steadfast gaze. “I'm flattered.”

“It's the truth, and now, since I am a firm believer in fair play, I do believe we have something more to do.”

“Such as, my lord?”

“You were going to call me Justinian,” he reminded her as his hand began a slow glide up her arm.

“Such as, Justinian?”

“Such as…this,” he replied, brushing his lips across hers lightly, as he had that first time. “And this.” His lips continued to slide over her mouth.

“And this, too,” he murmured as his hand grazed her bodice.

She wound her arms about his neck. “You are teasing me, my lord.”

“Justinian. And I intend to do much more than that.”

“Promise?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied as he shifted and moved her down onto the sofa. “Much more.”

Nell's heart raced and her body warmed as if he were sending out rays of light and heat like the sun. He shifted them so that he was again above her, his hips on hers, his
weight on his knees between her legs and leaning on one elbow, while his other hand explored her.

His kiss deepened, and she responded with fervent excitement, pulling him closer as her palms slid over his back, feeling the muscles bunching and moving beneath the surface of his skin as he stroked and aroused her.

His mouth moved slowly down her neck, and below, to the soft roundness of her breasts and their pebbled peaks. Regardless of her gown, he kissed her there, too, and sucked and nibbled, the sensations incredibly arousing. The pressure of his hips increased slightly as he raised himself to slip one hand into her bodice to cup her. She sighed and gasped and squirmed with a growing craving as the pad of his thumb brushed over the sensitive tip.

His mouth caught hers again, but more aggressively this time, with more need, more longing, more urgency. She responded at once, rising to meet him, running her hands along his heated flesh.

His hand went to her stockinged shin, curling around her and moving upward in an excruciatingly slow progress toward her knee. He reached the garter holding her stocking and pulled the bow until it came undone and fell away. He pushed down the fabric with a caress that made her writhe with expectation. She would never have guessed so simple a thing—a thing she did every day—could be so exciting.

When he inched backward, she began to sit up, ready to help him remove her stocking or anything else he wanted, until he whispered for her to lie back and let him satisfy her as she had satisfied him.

Panting, heart leaping with expectation, she did as he asked and when she felt him untie the drawstring of her pantelettes and lower them, she raised her hips to help, sure
she knew what he was going to do. What she would let him do. What she hoped he would do.

She gasped with both surprise and the unexpected thrill of his lips grazing her inner thigh. She had never even imagined being kissed there…or
there
! Or that he would do
that
with his tongue, licking her so intimately, making forays where his fingers had before.

She clutched her skirts, bunching the fabric as she parted her legs more, giving him room, writhing with the growing tension.

And then his hand was on her breast, stroking and touching, arousing her still more.

“Make love with me,” she pleaded. “I want you. Oh, please!”

He didn't answer, but in the next moment, his finger glided inside her. She was slick and hot and so ready, the tension snapped almost at once. With a low, guttural cry, she half rose as her muscles pulsed and her toes curled, carried along on waves of blissful release.

When her body relaxed and she lay back, he pressed warm, soft kisses to her neck and the curve of her shoulder.

“That
was not in your book,” she said, wrapping a lock of his hair around her finger.

“Because I didn't learn that on my voyage,” he replied as he moved back and got to his feet.

Some of her happiness dissipated, although of course she couldn't expect him to be inexperienced even before he sailed. He was a young, titled gentleman; he would have had plenty of opportunity to learn about women.

“Not every book I've read has been a classic or scientific one,” he said as she pulled up her stocking and tied her garter. “You would be shocked if you knew what sort
of books one can find in the less reputable bookstores, many of which are read by men who have no compunction about condemning other people for their licentious ways.

“Nor have I actually done that before,” he admitted. “That was another experiment and I believe I can consider it a success.”

“Very much so,” she replied, wondering what else had been in those books.

He began to button his shirt. “We had best get back to the hall. Drury and his wife—who returned with me—will be worried, and my mother anxious. I fear Juliette and Drury half expect you to return in tears. I confess I was rather indignant when I thought you'd lied to me about your parents.”

“Another man would have been far more than indignant,” she replied, rising to kiss him again. “That's another reason I'm…”

She hesitated for a fraction of a moment, afraid to use that stronger word. “Why I care for you as I do.”

“Do you really mean that?” he asked, his expression as studious as if he were taking an examination.

She had to kiss him again when he looked like that, before she wrapped her arms around him and regarded him just as gravely.