Page 35 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
“And I lost the child.” Her brown eyes turned solemnly umber in the shadows of the room.
He crushed her to him. How could he do this and not hate himself afterward? “Sweetheart, you’ve had so many tragedies in your life. I will not add to them. Certainly not by making love to you.”
There.He’d used the word that had brooded at the edge of his consciousness. He did love her. Her strength, her resilience. Her dedication. No woman in the world matched her.
But she shook her head to and fro. “Ramsey, darling. Stop. Hear me. I was damaged in the miscarriage, and the physician said I would never bear another child.”
He kissed the top of her head, her hair like gossamer against his lips. Her breasts a plush invitation. Her long, lean legs against his, the lure he could not resist.
She nestled close and raised her heart-shaped face to him. “You are what I want tonight. For the joy of us united. For the passion, incomparable. I know we will be perfection.”
Part of her statement he believed. All of her was what he wanted. For tonight and for any of the tomorrows he could persuade her to stay with him.
Oh, yes, it was clear to him he could not coax her to do anything she did not first accept for herself. If he now became an opportunist who took when he should refuse, then he would be the one tarnished—and justly so. But he wanted to show her his regard and needed in return all the vibrance of her in his arms. So he would take her for the time he could. Enjoy her for all the hours she gave him. Devote himself to loving each inch of her delectable body and her valiant soul.
He could do all that and hope that in some tomorrow he could not name, she decided that living was a proper choice—and living with him was the best choice. If he were extraordinarily lucky, he could also allow himself to hope that he might be worthy of her love—and that he was all she ever needed to fulfill her life.
“Oh, Ramsey, forget about what separates us and let us create new reasons to remain together. Make love to me.”
Her invitation broke him. He sank his fingers into the blue silk sleeves of her gown and slid them down her shoulders. All ofher tonight, he would have and hold and celebrate. Tomorrow, she could change, dismiss him, find the fault in all of this. But for now, he was weak enough to take what she offered and hope what he returned would ease the burden of her cares. He knew certainly that what he did now would never change who she was or what she really wanted from her life.
But this was tonight, and the next vibrant hours held promises of bliss they could share to ease the burden of the days ahead. He would make love to her and pray she did not recognize the fullness of his sentiment. For he knew her well enough to realize that once she saw he loved her, she would leave him. Her sense of fairness would demand she go. That she did not love him mattered less to him than that he loved her, now and always. And so he’d have her.
He grinned at her as he traced his fingers along the edge of her bodice. Those beautiful breasts he had dreamed of would be his. He glanced down at her breaths expanding the lovely globes of her breasts beneath his fingertips. He bent, holding her still as he swept the tip of his tongue over the heaving tops and dipped into the valley. Her hands went to the buttons of his frock coat and his waistcoat. Her eager fingers shook, and she did a poor job of unbuttoning his clothes. That was fine. He had time. Long minutes, hours to savor every inch of her. He had helped her undress every night for the past few weeks. Tonight would not be a problem. He had patience even if his cock did not.
“Toe off your slippers,” he murmured beneath her ear.
She wiggled beneath his hands and lips. “I rather like my stockings.”
“Nice, they are,” he said of the white fine clockwork he’d bought her in Buzancy. “Leave them on.”
She shivered. “You’ll remove them,” she said, an order and a hope.
“I will.” He nipped her earlobe. “With my teeth.”
She went still and cupped his throat. Her eyes were wide and black with lust. “I want your tongue.”
“Turn around.” He chuckled. What else could he do without tearing the clothes from her? “You tell me all you want, and I promise you, you will have it until I no longer breathe.”
She rose and pressed her lips to his in a frantic kiss with a need he’d never known from a woman.
He caught her shoulders. She shook back her bouncing curls, and he swept her around to the wall. His body flush to hers, he filled his hands with the bounty of her breasts. It was enough to test the resilience of his cock. He set his jaw. “Listen to me, my darling tease. Let me undress you or we will have each other too quick, too faint, standing against this damn wall.”
“The gown is Sophie’s,” she said.
“I know,” he replied, and worked carefully. But agility deserted him. His fingers felt like sausages, fumbling and crude. He was full of nerves, a schoolboy—and he bit off a curse.
At last her gown fell open.
“Step out.”
She did, and he swept the pale silk to the safety of a nearby chair.
He scowled, eyeing her corset cover. He had to lift that away now. “God in heaven, women wear too many contraptions.”
“All meant to keep a girl warm—and lonely,” she murmured, shaking with her laughter.
“A good job of it—fie on it all.” He struggled.
