White Lace and Promises (40 page)
Read White Lace and Promises Online
Authors: Natasha Blackthorne
Tags: #Romance, #Victorian, #Regency, #Historical Romance, #Historical
She nodded. Grey was being more than reasonable, more than tolerant. Ruth and Charlie were going to have to learn to live within their means.
He smiled “All right, then, that’s settled.”
“But you must promise me…” Her hoarse voice was breaking now, but it had to be said.
He stroked her hair. “Anything, my love.”
She swallowed hard, trying to make the most of what was left of her voice. “You must eat at noon every day and you must sleep at least six hours each night.”
His eyes softened even more and he chucked low. “From that first day, I knew you would be a bossy female. I wonder that I didn’t have the wisdom to stay away.”
“I mean it, Grey.” She fixed him with a severe look. “You will not be dropping dead on me.” She coughed and cleared her throat. Fiery pain made her grimace. “I shall never forgive you if you do.”
He nodded. “All right, Beth, it shall be as you say.”
“In my bed.” She held her breath.
His dark brows drew together. “What?”
Her heart flipped up into her throat. God, she ought to have quit while she was ahead but why not gamble for everything she wanted this time? What good did it do to hold back?
“I mean that you shall sleep every night in my bed.”
He took her hand and pressed it to his face. “Of course—every night from now on.”
Her heart felt lighter than ever. It was really happening. They were to become a truly married couple.
“Now, Beth, you must get better. You must be well enough by February.”
His dictatorial tones brought a smile to her lips. “Must I? Why?”
“Because I promised you a trip. Us, alone together, away from all of this. I intend to keep my promise.”
Epilogue
She hadn’t wanted to attend any damn ball. Not tonight of all nights. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Neither of the girls liked thunder. Beth chewed on her fingertip, her mind not here in the carriage but back in the nursery with its primrose wallpaper and polished maple cradle and rocking chair. Exactly where she should be now.
Yet she was here in the carriage riding to the ball. Why? Because he had insisted and, ultimately, if truth were told, she could deny him nothing he truly wanted.
“They will be fine, Beth, that’s what we pay the nannies for.” Grey’s deep voice cut into her thoughts.
Her shoulders tensed and rose of their own volition. “Our children shouldn’t be raised by their nannies.”
“You’ve not been out of the nursery since Ellie was born.”
She smiled despite herself. “That’s not true.”
He tilted his head and made a wry expression. “It is a virtual truth, if not literal.”
She couldn’t deny that. Already she missed her girls. She should be the one tucking Priss into her little bed. The one to put the thick overnight nappy on Ellie.
“You’re going to spoil them.” His voice resonated with tolerant humour.
All right, yes, she had spent much time in the nursery. Holding the baby and reading to Priss while she played at Beth’s feet. It was summer and the charity school was on break. What better use could she find for her time?
“I am not spoiling them; I am simply giving them some attention. They will be little such a short time.”
He moved closer to her and took her hand. “But I need your attention, too.”
He stared at her, intently, as if seeing her for the first time. She caught her breath, for the lantern’s light seemed to accentuate every line and angle of his handsome face. A face most dear to her of all the faces in the world. And yet she’d hardly noticed him like this in the previous weeks of Ellie‘s colicky belly and Priss’ summer cold.
The steady drumming of rain on the carriage, the distant rolls of thunder, the clipping of the horses’ hooves. It all seemed so familiar.
“Beth.” He spoke the word as a breathy whisper as he cupped her face. His thumbs rubbed over the hollows beneath her cheekbones.
She closed her eyes and lifted her face. His lips touched hers. He pulled away with a chuckle. She opened her eyes and watched as he removed his cravat pin. Then he returned to her and their mouths met, open. The taste of his tongue on hers was the sweetest thing. He cupped her face, tilted her head more to the left and plunged his tongue deeper. Hunger trembled through her; she moaned and clutched his broad shoulders. He pressed her back, down onto the velvet-cushioned seat.
Wetness began to flow between her legs. Not a slow seeping but a sudden gushing that trickled down the inside of her right leg. What had it been? Three…no four months since she’d felt his strength pressing her, his weight upon her body. She arched her pelvis up to make contact with his. She moaned, the sound muffled by his mouth and vibrating deep in her throat. It sounded like someone else’s voice. It startled her.
He tore his mouth from hers and lifted his body. Her thin batiste petticoats and fine muslin skirt slid over her silk stockings and up higher and air rushed over her skin until she lay bared to waist. He touched her leg, gliding his hand up the inside of it. Sparks of fire shot through her. She moaned again, this time a needy little mewling sound.
God, she had to have him inside her. Now. She reached for the buttons on his pantaloons. He brushed her hands away. She felt his wrenching movements as he undid his pantaloons. A moment later he put his hands under her buttocks and lifted her even as he lowered himself to her.
As he brought his face down to her, his lips brushed her hair. His cock touched her. He groaned. His need pulsed between them yet he began easing himself into her. She could sense his hesitance, his concern to not be rough this first time after the birth. She had no patience with it. She arched her hips up and sheathed him in one fluid, wet move. The sudden sensation of fullness, of being stretched, was divine. Her inner walls spasmed about him repeatedly as pleasure shuddered through her body. His body trembled against hers as though in answer. She wrapped her legs snug about his waist.
“Fuck me hard,” she whispered.
“God, Beth, but—”
“Do it.” She tightened her inner muscles on him. “Just do it.”
He groaned. Withdrew almost the whole way and then plunged into her. Then he did it again. And again. Faster and harder each time. She lifted her hips, meeting each thrust. Her wetness became audible and that somehow just made her all the more desperate to feel the force of his cock, banging against the mouth of her womb. It had been far too long since she had felt him inside her. Each meeting of their bodies there, at that most extreme point, drove her closer to the edge.
Her cunt contracted on his hard, pulsing thickness. He laid his hand over her mouth as waves of intense, long-lasting and bone-deep pleasure overtook her. His palm muffled her screams.
She lay panting. He jerked his cock from within her and the hot surge of wetness against her belly told her he was coming even as he groaned several times.
“God, oh God—Beth.” His voice carried to her, breathless.
Something touched her stomach, something fluttery and light. She glanced down. He had laid his handkerchief over her stomach, protecting his evening clothes as he leaned over her and brought his face close to hers. In the dim light, the hair falling over his forehead was dark as midnight.
“I love you. Christ, how I love you,” he breathed, just inches above her.
She opened her mouth to reply but his came down on hers fiercely, taking her breath. Her love swelled in her chest until it was a pain, the sweetest of pains. She kissed him back with every ounce of feeling in her soul. Her enthusiasm seemed to set him afire. He grasped the mass of carefully arranged curls at her nape, turning the angle of her head to suit him as he deepened and prolonged the kiss. Her heart raced all over again at his passion. Eventually, she was forced to push away from him and gasp for air.
He moved away from her and wiped her belly off with the handkerchief.
Taking a hitching breath, she smiled to herself a bit ruefully. He had sworn that she wouldn’t carry a child for another year or two. He seemed set to keep that promise. She wasn’t so sure. She enjoyed their children. She craved more of them.
He bent and placed a kiss on her stomach.
She caressed his hair. “I love you, too.”
He seemed so unconcerned about the time passing by. He must have told David to drive along the waterfront. She expected him to pull her skirts into place and then tap on the carriage wall. They were running very late for the ball now. But he didn’t. He laid his head down and pressed his cheek to her belly. “That first day, you were so damned gorgeous. As if God had taken every fantasy or dream of beauty that I had ever had and spun them into one living woman. I thought I’d suddenly become the luckiest man in the whole world.” He paused a moment. “But, more than that, you touched my heart.”
“You touched mine as well but it scared me.”
“Yes, I was terrified of you—of my feelings for you.”
Her mouth fell open slightly and she caught her breath. “That’s quite an admission.”
“Isn’t it?” He laughed softly. “From the first moment I looked into your eyes—your sad, beautiful blue eyes—I was utterly lost.”
She recalled how scared she had been. How hard she had fought him in those early days. Sudden sympathy for him hit her and maybe a touch of remorse. Just a touch. She caressed the side of his face, enjoying the fresh-shaven feel of his skin. “Oh, my love.”
“Well, I am not afraid anymore.” He turned his head and flicked his tongue into her navel.
Joy radiated through her whole being. “Neither am I.”
Slowly, he kissed his way from her navel to her mons. “And I am most definitely the luckiest man in the world.”
His tongue touched her wet folds. Fire raced through her cunt, up into her belly and then into her blood. She closed her eyes and arched into his loving mouth. She was definitely the happiest lady in the world.
Also available
from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Grey’s Lady
Natasha Blackthorne
Excerpt
Chapter One
Philadelphia, PA
Spring, 1812
Grey couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Philadelphian women were the cream of the Republic, but damn if this one didn’t exceed all previous definitions. Curling wisps of hair escaped from her indigo bonnet and trailed down her graceful neck. He’d never seen hair that colour—like champagne shimmering in the moonlight.
She looked up, giving him his first full sight of her face. Sky blue eyes, full of aching, longing…and something else. Abject sadness.
Haunting.
Something caught in his chest. Something reminiscent of pleurisy. Well, it wasn’t surprising. Philadelphia air was notoriously insalubrious and the day was oppressively damp. He blinked, glancing away. Was he losing his wits? Haunting eyes? What romantic nonsense. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was getting a fever.
He glanced at his pocket watch. God, time was crawling. He’d arranged this series of lectures to entice potential investors, and last week in Boston had been most profitable. However, today, Mason’s Bookstore was packed with adolescent boys who sat with their mouths agape listening to local captains recount tales of privateering glory. His own speech on how and why to invest in a voyage had been met with yawns and bobbing heads. What a waste of an afternoon.
Shifting in his seat, he sensed her gaze. Lingering. Burning him. Against his will, he turned back to her. Those eyes seemed to reach across the room, directly into him, to touch his emptiness.
What a fanciful notion. His wits
must
be addled.
She didn’t drop her gaze, as a modest woman might. Instead, she appraised him, boldly weighing and measuring. A hint of her tongue flirted along the seam of her pink lips. Her eyes smouldered as if she’d read his every erotic longing and fantasy in his face.
He shifted again, trying to adjust for the heated blood rushing into his cock. The corners of her mouth turned up and humour glinted in her eyes. Clearly, she found his interest amusing. She found
him
amusing.
By God, then, I’ll have her beneath me, writhing and begging me to fuck her.
Damned if he wouldn’t.
The fervour of his thoughts shocked him back to his senses. People were talking and laughing and moving around. The lecture was over. He got up to leave, but he found himself standing at the windows, transfixed by the rain sheeting down.
“My goodness.” The breathy, feminine voice hit him low in his gut and he didn’t have to look to know who’d spoken. Something primal pounded through his blood. An urge to turn, grasp her by the back of her hair and kiss her with such brute force she would run.
Shaken, he took several long, deep breaths before he trusted himself enough to turn to her. He looked down to where her head barely met his shoulder and suddenly he was drowning in those azure eyes.
“It’s so hard, isn’t it?” she said in breathy, bedchamber tones.
“Pardon me, Madam?”
“The rain. It’s coming down so hard today. Buckets and buckets full.” Her voice sounded sincere but her eyes glimmered with mirth.
“Yes, it is.” He kept his tone cool, polite.
She stood so close his arm almost touched her breast. So close her tangy, sweet gardenia-like scent became intoxicating.
“Pardon me, Madam, but do you have some question about investing in a privateer venture?”
“Oh, no, they answered all my questions in the lecture.”
“But how could they have? You came in after the part about investing.”
“I didn’t really have any particular questions—I come to all the lectures here.” She glanced at the chalk board on the opposite wall, where the names of the lecturers were posted. “You are Mr Asahel de Grijs Sexton of New York?”
“At your service.”
“Your middle name means grey…like your eyes. Correct?”
“Yes. It’s Dutch.” It had been his mother’s maiden name.
“And you’re here to invest in privateering voyages for the expected war?” She took hold of the curtain’s thick, gold, braided cord.
“I own some ships and take on investors. I also invest in other voyages. It’s a numbers game, for safety.”
She gave a soft sigh… No, it was more like a moan. A lush, bedroom sound that made his lower belly tighten.
“Well, I was wondering…” She caressed her fingers up and down the braided cord in a way that could only be described as suggestive. Sinfully so. Right here in the book store.
A tide of lust like he had never felt before swept through his blood and stiffened his cock.
“I—I was wondering…” She trailed her fingers one last time before she dropped the cord. A half-smile curved her lips.
“Yes, Madam?” The steadiness of his voice amazed him.
“Could you—” She drew her lashes down as she spread her lips in a slow, sensual smile. “Would you be so kind as to give me a ride in your carriage?”
Her inflection left no doubt what kind of ride she meant.
What true gentleman could disappoint a lady? He offered her his arm. “Come, then.”
She raised fine, pale-gold brows. “I cannot be seen leaving here in your company.”
“Then what?”
“Drive around the block and wait there. I shall come along presently.”
“It’s raining like the flood. You cannot walk in that.”
“Do you think I shall melt?” Her deep and throaty laugh resonated deep in his balls.
“I think a gentleman doesn’t expect a lady to walk in the rain.”
She laughed again. “Oh, but I am not a lady.”
“Don’t talk like that.” His harsh tone puzzled him. Where had it come from?
“Did my fine silk gown fool you?” She plucked her coarse woollen skirt. Her fingerless nankeen gloves revealed digits reddened as though they habitually spent hours soaked in lye. The sharp contrast with her refined loveliness made his throat burn and he swallowed tightly.
She sighed. He glanced up. Her eyes were sad again and her emotion seemed to touch him in places he’d forgotten had existed. Damn, she was beautiful. How many times had he repeated that today? God, he was making a jackass of himself. But what did she really want from him? She was bold, yes, but she lacked the hardened look of a girl on the town. Maybe poverty had forced her into temporary whoring.
“You need money?” The hoarse terseness of his whisper surprised him.
“I don’t want your money.” She turned her gaze to him. Bold, blue and full of unmistakable longing. “I only want a ride.”
* * * *
Alone with her in the carriage, Grey took her hand and caressed it. Her fingers grated roughly against his. The burning sensation returned to his throat, making him cough. Her eyes were full of that earlier sadness. And longing. Compassion and sympathy flooded him, rendering him incapable of thinking clearly. Making him aware of his own sadness, the emptiness that had been with him so long he’d forgotten it was even there. It was getting to be unnerving. As if there was a cord attached to his innards that she could yank at will.
What the devil was he getting into here?
He kept his life orderly. Free of emotional entanglements and excess. He certainly never spent time indulging his more maudlin emotions. And yet, right now, the combination of sympathy and sexuality was overpowering. Irresistibly seductive.
Maybe he was turning sick. Maybe he was lying in bed right now, delirious with fever.
He squeezed her hand. “What is your name?”
“Beth.”
He exhaled her name, cupping her face and rubbing his thumbs over the hollows beneath her cheekbones. The sensation was pure luxury, the texture of her skin like satin cream.
She closed her eyes, lifted her face. Barely aware he moved still closer, he felt her soft mouth under his with a sense of shock. She moaned and opened her mouth, all hot, wet and spicy-sweet, like mulled cider against his tongue.
He moved his hands down her back against the coarse wool of her bodice, pulling her closer. The folds of his cravat rustled, crisply crushing. She cried out.
Damn—his cravat pin
. He leaned away, stripped his coat off, plucked out the offending pin and came back to her. She laughed and tugged at his cravat until it came loose. Her grip tight on the two loose ends, she pulled him close to her face and held him in place.
Her taste was so intoxicating. He ravished her mouth without mercy. She returned his strokes measure for measure until they were forced to stop and pant for breath. Fuck, she was so intense. So willing and wanton and womanly. Her fire consumed him. Part of him—the gentlemanly part—watched appalled as he hooked his fingers around the damp hem of her coarse woollen skirt and pushed it up in one swift motion, baring her to the waist. She gasped, then laughed again.
Her legs, milky white, long and lovely, parted to reveal the pale gold and pink shell of her cunt. He glided his fingertips over her inner thigh. Damn, she had amazing skin. The equal of any lady’s he’d touched. He slid his hand higher, into her apex. She pressed up to meet his fingers, writhing and drenching him with her honey.
He slipped two fingers inside the irresistible, liquid heat. She clenched tight and his cock twitched with impatience. God, he had to be inside her. Now.
She reached for the fall of his pantaloons but he shoved her hands away and wrenched his buttons open. He pressed her back into the plush velvet cushion, then positioned himself for entry. Her hips arched and she sheathed his length in one swift, slick slide. Her sharp cry pierced his ears and he brought his lips down swiftly on hers. She gripped his shoulders fiercely as he moved deep, fast, hard. Her hips met his, thrust for thrust. Her legs gripped his waist to propel him deeper, until the head of his cock banged against the mouth of her womb. At her appreciative cry he continued, fucking her with a brutal abandon.
The smell of their sweat and sex filled the closed, humid carriage. This was what a fuck should be. Always.
Her wet heat convulsed around his hardness, the waves of her pleasure long-lasting and violent. He must withdraw. Now. He tore his mouth away from hers as something between a groan and a sob forced its way past his lips. His whole body shuddered as he withdrew, releasing his seed on her thigh in furious jets.
He touched his forehead to hers. “Dear God.”
* * * *
Beth sat in the farthest corner of the carriage and cast a sideways glance at her dark-haired stranger. The angular cut of his cheekbones and strong, imperious jaw gave him an air of granite-hewn arrogance.
His pale grey eyes cut into her. Hidden behind her worldly-woman smile, her heart fluttered. As if she’d just experienced her first true kiss. As if she’d been truly touched for the first time.
The horses’ hooves. The rain beating on the roof. The distant thunder. The rustle of her skirts as she drew her legs up underneath her. All of them sounded unnaturally loud.
She felt raw, exposed, bleeding.
And she had no one else to blame but herself.
She’d gone to the lecture to meet him. He was an excellent conquest. Blue-blooded, obscenely wealthy, the owner of Sexton Shipping, politically connected and powerful. Once, when she’d been too young to know better, she’d allowed herself to be seduced by a wealthy gentleman. He had promised eternal love, then abandoned her. A bitter lesson but one she’d learnt well. Now she was the seducer. She was very particular, choosing the handsomest and wealthiest of men. To know she could tempt any man of her choosing, even dressed in her shabby clothes, added a perverse thrill, made her dizzy with power. Conquest and control often proved a headier thrill than love.
Then, too, there was the erotic pleasure. She’d always been weak to her sensual drives. Her mother’s wild blood, some would say.
But today it had not been only Sexton’s wealth or handsomeness that had drawn her. It had been the way his frosty eyes had cut into her, stripping her bare of all her secrets. And how they had warmed to silver, shining with such empathy. It was as if he
knew
her, as if he could see all her faults, all her weak longings and petty spites. Even the tears she shed at midnight, silently into her pillow. And he didn’t judge her for any of it. After that moment of rare soul-to-soul connection, she had to know him. And that had been the problem.
Of course, he had succumbed. Men always did. But today had been different. Her
need
to experience him gave him a power over her that made her throat go dry and her palms slick. It was time to part ways. She always cut the strings after one encounter. Always left them wanting. It made the conquest all the sweeter.
She flicked the curtain open and gazed out, trying to determine their location. There was nothing to see but the water and grey, rainy sky. She turned back to the gentleman. “Asahel—”
“Grey.” His voice, deep and strong, reverberated in her stomach.
“Grey, I am desperately late getting home.”
He reached back and tapped the carriage wall. “You are not so very late. This normally takes longer.” He paused and grinned. “A lot longer.”