Page 104 of The Study of Seduction
“Edwin,” she whispered. “Yes, like that. Harder. More. Give me everything, my darling.”
“Everything is already yours,” he rasped as he fondled her breast through her gown. “That will never change.”
For her, either. And as the truth blazed into her soul, she kissed him to keep from blurting it out.
She loved him. She wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but somewhere in the past few weeks, she’d fallen in love with Edwin. And now that she’d found him, was she to lose him?
No.No!
Slipping her hands down to his fine, taut buttocks, she cupped them to get him closer, deeper. She would drown him in pleasure, if that was what it took.
Instead, he drownedherin it, reaching between their bodies to finger her until she was fighting for breath and thought, fighting not to be the first one to succumb to her release. If she couldn’t have his love, she wanted his surrender.Neededhis surrender.
Shimmying and writhing beneath him, she ran her hands down the backs of his thighs, the tips of her fingers just brushing his ballocks between his legs.
He swore under his breath. “Come for me, sweetheart . . . please . . . I can’t wait . . . much longer.”
Neither could she. “Don’t . . . wait.” She kissed and caressed, touched and met each thrust eagerly, hungry for all of him . . . for the man who was her husband, the man whom she loved.
“I need you,” he murmured against her ear. “God . . . stay with me . . . Clarissa. Never leave me.”
“I wouldn’t,” she choked out. “I couldn’t.” Like a rising tide, her release was rolling up in her, wave after wave, urge after urge, driving her up toward the surface, toward the sun . . .
“If I have to go into exile . . . promise you’ll go . . . with me . . .”
“I will.” She clenched on his cock as she felt herself exploding through the surface into sweet oblivion. “To the ends . . . of the earth . . . if I must.”
With that, he, too, found his release. As they strained together, she milking him, he filling her, she held him close and thought the words she dared not say to the man who didn’t believe in love.
I love you, Edwin.
Twenty-Four
By the time they turned onto his street, they’d made themselves presentable again. Or as presentable as two people could be who’d just been swiving wildly in a carriage.
Edwin didn’t really care if anybody could tell. He meant to spend all night making love to his wife. Because this might be his last night with Clarissa for some time.
Or forever.
He scowled. No, he would not let Durand win. Surely Fate would not allow such a bastard to prevail.
It allowed Clarissa to be raped.
Which was precisely why it was long past time she got some reward for all her trials. She deserved it. He would give it to her.
You are not God, Edwin!
Great, now his conscience was quoting his wife. And no, he was not God. Because if he had been, Whiting would have been struck by lightning before he’d ever brought Clarissa into that orangery.
“Edwin, something’s going on,” Clarissa murmured.
He glanced out the window as their coach came to a halt. There was another carriage in front of his town house, which he recognized as one of Warren’s. Had Clarissa’s mother come here? No, why would she? They’d just left her.
So Edwin wasn’t entirely shocked when the footman opened the door to the coach and greeted them with the words, “Lord Knightford is here to see you, milord.”
“Warren is back?” Clarissa exclaimed as Edwin helped her out. Then her face turned ashen. “Oh no, something must have happened to Niall!”
Before Edwin could stop her, she raced up the steps, with him following. When they entered the house and were directed to the drawing room, they found a grim-faced Warren waiting for them with a glass of brandy in hand. Edwin tensed up.
