Page 117 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
She combed her fingers through his hair. “But you went after them anyway. I don’t know if I’ve ever known a man as singular in purpose as you. Even that first night when we met, I knew you would not give up easily.”
“I had no plans to give up at all. I wanted you then, and if it’s at all possible I want you more now.”
“Yet you’re being so careful with me.”
“I want to savor every moment.” He lowered his lips to her throat, peppering kisses over the length and width of it, before moving his mouth to the valley between her breasts. She scraped her fingers along his scalp, relishing the feel of his thick hair curling around her fingers.
He shifted his attention to one of her nipples, his tongue outlining it before he closed his lips around it and drew it into his mouth. Sensations shot through her, curled her toes. She might have never had this again for the remainder of her life. But she had it now. She’d never take it for granted.
She was acutely aware of every kiss he bestowed, every flick of his tongue, every suckle, every soothing stroke, every press of his fingers. Slowly he went while her body mapped out the touches.
Pressing on his shoulders, urging him to roll over, she took hold of his wrists, carried his hands over his head, and proceeded to torment him as he had her. With kisses, strokes of her tongue, caresses of her fingers. Now she was mapping out his body. The long length of his torso, the firmness in his arms, the hardness of his thighs. The heated hardness of other parts. She stroked the last, her fingers closing around the hard length of him. Magnificent, bold, strong.
Lowering her mouth, she took in as much as she was able.
“Ah, Christ,” he groaned, his hands cradling her face.
She lifted her eyes to his face, a mixture of agony and rapture. Feeling powerful, she swirled her tongue, watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his head back. She suckled, kissed, tormented. While she was away, she’d had moments when she’d thought of this, had regretted that she’d never given him this when he had so often brought her pleasure with his mouth pressed to her most intimately. She’d wondered at his taste, at how it would feel to have her way with him as he had with her.
Taking her arms, he brought her up. “It’s been too long,” he said. “I can’t go another moment without having you.”
Lifting her hips, he lowered them, and her body took him deep, closed around him. A shudder of delicious pleasure went through her. It felt so good, so very good to have him there, to be one with him. Almost too good.
He raised her, slammed her down, and she began to ride him fast and furiously, while he cupped her breasts, kneading them with expert fingers. She leaned over him, her hair forming a curtain around them. She took his mouth, thrusting her tongue inside as he was thrusting into her lower. Sensations spiraled, curled, unfurled.
She kissed the dew from his throat. “I love you.”
Pleasure ratcheted through her, carried her higher, burst forth. He growled as he bucked beneath her. He closed his arms around her, held her tightly. She lowered her head to his chest, could hear the rhythmic pounding of his heart.
Lethargic, she was vaguely aware of his kissing her crown as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 24
She awoke to sunlight streaming in through the windows and a bed absent of Avendale. She jerked upright, saw him sitting in a chair beside the bed, and breathed a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever slept so well,” she confessed.
“You barely stirred when I got up.”
She studied his fine clothes: his tan trousers, his brown brocade vest, his white shirt, his black jacket, his perfectly knotted neck cloth. Something was amiss. A shiver of trepidation went through her. “Why are you dressed?” She lifted the covers a bit to reveal her nude body. “Come back to bed.”
“You have an appointment.”
He extended something toward her. A narrow bundle. Taking it, she untied the string, folded back the paper to reveal tickets. She studied them. Passage on the railway to Scotland. She shifted her gaze to Avendale, not certain why a fissure of anger went through her. “As much as I owe you, I expected you to require more than one night.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “No, our bargain is done.” He stood. “The others will be waiting at the railway station. I purchased passage for them as well. I’ll send Edith in to help you prepare for the journey.”
She wanted to cry, scream, beg him not to send her away. He loved her; he said so. She’d dared to say the words back to him and make herself vulnerable. Then a coldness settled through her. Last night, he hadn’t told her he loved her. Not once. Why would he? In striving to grant her freedom, he had uncovered all her secrets, all her shameful actions. As haughtily as possible, fighting to hold in the pain, she angled her chin. “What time do we leave?”
“In an hour.”
She nodded. “Well, then, I’d best get to it.”
He walked from the room without a word. In that moment, she hated herself for falling in love with him, for giving him the power to break her heart.
Walking out of that room was the hardest thing that Avendale had ever done, but he knew he had no choice, had known he would have no choice when he paid off the man she had first swindled. And the one after him, and the next. As her debt to him had accumulated, risen ever higher.
He wanted her love for as long as he lived. But that was not something for which he could ask. He cursed the damned bargain. If she stayed, he would always doubt the words whispered in the night, whispered in the throes of passion. He could not live with the uncertainty, the doubts regarding her true feelings for him.
