Page 65 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“Do not,” she admonished, reaching a hand up to cup his face. “I will not let you make a martyr of yourself. Not on my watch! I want you here, no matter what.” The backs of her fingers brushed against his jaw. It sparked a fire in him, and his body moved into hers intrinsically.
“Cecilia, I have not enough to claim you.” He chuckled at himself, hating having to speak of such things. “I have not the money to support you, and wish it though I might, I will not debase you by marring you.” He did not dare mention Pincher. That was not her burden to bear.
“We do not need money. We do not need station.”
“Your father will not see it as such.”
“Let’s not speak of my father.” Her hand curled around his neck, and Raphael grunted softly. “He does not exist here. I need only to know that all the things you said, especially about marriage, were not only spoken to erase our misdeed and make you feel better about yourself.”
He could barely think for the arousal coursing through his body. His blood was pumping hard in his veins at her command. He wondered whether she knew how she drove him mad. Her touch was like kindling to his desire, and he awkwardly tried to turn his body from her and hide the tenting in his trousers.
“Better about myself?” he repeated, holding on to her words for dear life.
“I said them because they were true.”
Raphael could resist her no more. He grabbed her hand and held it against his skin. She let him.
“Everything I have ever said to you has been said true. I risk the life I have built for myself with every second spent by your side, yet I cannot stop. Cecilia, I have led alifeof misdeed. Your touch . . .”
He yanked her hand up to kiss it and she let out a sigh. “ Your spirit. . .” His free hand grabbed her rump, pressing her into his arousal.
“You.Youhave been the one thing I’ve done right.”
Cecilia lurched forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pulled him down to her level, pressing her eager mouth against his. Her lithe little body writhed against his own. She had learned much in their short dalliance it seemed, as she pressed her heat against his leg.
He thrust his hands in her hair, savouring every gentle moan, every clumsy wet locking of their lips. Cecilia broke away.
“More. . .” she moaned. Her hand darted down before he could stop her. She kneaded him over his trousers, and he bucked into her hand. His head knocked back into one of the upper cabinets, and he laughed through the pain.
“You want more?” he teased, dropping his hands from her hair. They curled around her thighs, hoisting her up. Cecilia was fully compliant and grinning. He turned them around, sitting her on the counter. “We have not the time formore.”
Her lust was coloured by her anger, twisting into something powerful. She reached for him again, but he batted her hand away. He pinned it on the countertop with one of his hands. With the other he began pulling up her gown. She shuffled out of it until it pooled around her waist on the wood, revealing her delicate cotton drawers and stockings.
“I thought you said—”
Raphael cut her off by placing his hand against her heat. She licked her lips and rolled her hips into his palm, leaning back to give him more room.
“You are a quick learner,” he whispered, sliding his hands over her belly and into her drawers, lowering them, “and the most wicked minx in all of England.” Her drawers slipped down her legs and onto the floor. “I like you like that.”
Clearly. he had inspired her. She widened her legs for him, exposing her womanhood. Raphael ran his thumb along her seam, teasingly slow. Cecilia’s face twisted in pleasure, her lips parted. The devil whispered to him, and he placed his thumb in that supple mouth. She startled at first, then sucked on her nectar.
Raphael popped his thumb out of her mouth and fell to his knees before her.
Chapter 23
The next morning, Cecilia descended the stairs with unusual assurance. She kicked out the hem of her white, poppy-patterned day gown and relished the sun streaming through the windows.
By some miracle, she had not been caught returning to the manor after her rendezvous at the cottage. She had not bothered to look at the time upon her return, though she knew it had been well beyond her mother and father’s bedtime, having slipped through the terrace door without raising alarm.
Breakfast had been brought up to her, and the smell of buttered toast still lingered on her fingers. She licked her forefinger clean, and it sparked a devilish memory from the night before. She shivered involuntarily as she recalled what Raphael had done to herwith his mouth. No one had ever mentioned that in gossip. It made Cecilia feel untouchable.
Glancing at the clock in the corner, she noted the time and lingered on the stairs.“Wednesday, nine o’clock,” she whispered to herself, glancing from the clock face to the door and back again. “Which means . . .”
Right on cue, the door cracked open. Raphael entered the room, carrying his haversack, cutting a fine figure in his tawny jacket and leather boots. He closed the door behind him and walked halfway across the entrance hall before he noticed her.
“Lady Cecilia,” he said in surprise. He glanced around the room then smiled. “Were you waiting for me?”
“An act of providence,” Cecilia countered, descending the last few steps. “Are you expecting a late workday?” she asked, dropping her voice low.
