Wildblossom (37 page)

"Shelby, this is fascinating, but hardly the topic I would have chosen for tonight. Do you really mean to compare me to King Edward? We couldn't be less alike." Geoff's elegant hand reached for her and drew her against him. "Are you thirsty? Have a sip of champagne."

His faint male scent, which she'd dreamed of for months, wafted around her, and she stood between his open thighs and breathed him in. When Geoff held the fluted goblet to her lips, Shelby drank, and felt a faltering barrier collapse within her. She looked at him under her lashes, longing to sink her fingers into his hair, to taste his mouth with the tip of her tongue....

"I can't bear the thought that I'm some sort of cast-off," she whispered brokenly. "That you might think I could wait at your beck and call, and be placated with presents and champagne." Swallowing, she lifted her chin and said firmly, "It isn't right, Geoff. You're taking a bride you don't love, when I am every bit as fine a woman as she."

"Finer." He made a low sound and took her fully into his arms. "Oh, Shelby. My love." His mouth closed over hers; he was starving for her, aching with every aspect of his being.

Joyously, she melted into his body and found that they still fit together as two pieces of one whole. She was smiling as she opened her mouth to him, then their tongues were reunited and her tingling breasts were crushed against his hard male chest.

When Geoff tasted her tears, he felt his own eyes sting. How could he have ever have imagined that he could live without her?

"I have to talk to you." Drawing back slightly, he tenderly caressed the curve of her cheekbone.

"Mmm."

"You know, scamp, if you came to England intending to marry me, you could have made it much easier by assuming a lower profile." His tone was fondly ironic. "Do you have any idea how London will react to the notion of the Duke of Aylesbury jilting Lady Clementine Beech on the eve of their wedding to marry the new sharpshooter with the Wild West Show?"

"It's not my fault you were dull-witted enough to allow that match with Lady Clementine! And I did
not
come to England intending - " As his words sank in, she froze, unable to speak for long moments. Finally, she breathed, "Geoff?"

"Yes, my darling?" Smiling, he traced the line of her neck with feather-light kisses.

"Were you serious just now? About marrying me?"

"I've never been more serious in my life. I would have saved myself a lot of suffering if I'd proposed to you in Wyoming and insisted that you come home with me no matter what you'd said against life in England, or about only being happy at the Sunshine Ranch. I was trying to do the noble thing for you–"

"Then, we
both
were trying to be noble, because that's the only reason I didn't beg you not to leave me!" She made a sound that combined giddy laughter with a sob. "I thought your situation was impossible, and that I could never be an acceptable wife for you, and I talked to Percy and he said Lady Clementine was quite nice and it all couldn't be helped!"

Geoff shook his head, groaning. "Manypenny gave me bad advice as well, but he's seen the light and that's a huge leap for someone who has always had ironclad rules for the peerage. No doubt he missed you nearly as much as I did."

"I think I must be dreaming. You won't change your mind in the morning?"

"Impossible. I intend to marry you whether you like it or not, and I'll see to it that there are no further barriers to our happiness."

"But, what about your family and Lady Clementine and your obligations as a duke, and–"

"Minor details," he said firmly while caressing her slim back. "Now then, back to that tryst you were longing for..."

"In your den of iniquity?"

"Exactly. Turn around," he instructed, and she obeyed. His fingers made quick work of the fastenings on her gown, and then met the challenge of the boned corset. Before he let her clothing fall to the floor, Geoff drew her back against him and kissed the sweet nape of her neck.

Shelby's mind was spinning. "Wait! I have to say something. It wasn't true that I could only be happy on the ranch. I would live with you anywhere! I'd wear a corset and curtsy and attend a ball every night if I could wake up in the morning with you."

"We shan't subject you to quite that much torture." He slowly drew the pins from her hair and let it down in a luxuriant spill. "I hate balls, too. We'll live most of the time at Sandhurst Manor, in the country, and that's quite tolerable. If we do just enough in London to satisfy my mother—" Geoff broke off and groaned with laughter. "Christ, my mother is going to keel over when I tell her."

"I imagine she won't be the only one."

"Oh well." He let her clothes slide into a pool on the carpet. "Never mind."

Noticing the play of the firelight over her naked body, Shelby smiled dreamily. She turned to face Geoff and began unfastening his shirt studs, while he bracketed her thighs with his hands and slid them upward, in and out over her womanly curves, soaking up the satiny texture of her warm skin. When he reached Shelby's breasts, he caressed them lightly, staring at her nipples as they gradually tautened. He could hear the shift in the cadence of her breathing. She pushed his shirt back and he freed each arm in turn, then held her close and fastened his mouth on the rosy crest of her breast. His perch on the arm of the sofa positioned him perfectly so that he could slowly kiss and swirl his tongue around each sensitized nipple, sliding one arm around her waist and finding his way between her thighs with his other hand.

"This is... decadent," Shelby murmured, her head thrown back so that her hair swirled past her waist.

"We're betrothed." His mouth was hot on her nipple. He nipped gently, then moved to the other one. "It's quite proper in this case."

That made her giggle. "When are you going to take off the rest of
your
clothes? I think I'm at a disadvantage."

She was wet when he touched her there, wet and swollen. Geoff thought for a moment that he could climax right then, like a young pup with his first lover. It made him realize how long he'd simply buried his sexuality. He hadn't been without a woman this long since he was sixteen.

"I'm the one at a disadvantage, sweet," he muttered ruefully, cupping her buttocks with both hands, moving from her nipples to press kisses over every inch of her full breasts. "You mustn't touch me—"

"Nonsense." Wearing an incandescent smile, Shelby took his hands and drew him to his feet. Her fingers worked the buckle of the belt, then unfastened his trousers. "We have all night. Remember?"

Geoff clenched his teeth and found a measure of control. They kissed, feasting on each other's mouths, and he allowed Shelby to urgently caress his chest, arms, back, hips, for he understood her need.

"You've lost weight," she fretted, kissing, touching, tasting, relearning each well-loved inch of him.

"Feed me."

He spread her cape on the carpet in front of the fireplace, with the satin lining turned up, and they lay down together. In the light of the prancing flames, Geoff covered her body with his in a timeless pose of love. They shared the same wild need to mate; there would be time later for more delicate forms of pleasure. Shelby was panting as she spread her thighs for him, moaning as he pushed inside her, hard and hot as a saber, and they rocked together with the rhythm of each pounding thrust.

"Oh—love—" The fire was getting hotter. When Geoff climaxed, his teeth in the curve of her neck, Shelby wrapped her arms around his wide back and wished they never had to move.

Time passed, and she whispered, "It feels like home...."

PART 3

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

~W. B. Yeats

Chapter 18

"If this weren't going to make such a devil of a mess in my life, I'd laugh," Geoff said as he opened the morning edition of the
Times
in front of them on the bed. "Look, the writer can't stop babbling about 'Shelby Matthews, the audacious, captivating
cowgirl
who lights up Earl's Court with her sharpshooting antics....' "

"Goodness, does it really say that?" Shelby nuzzled his chest and peeked at the newspaper under long lashes.

"Yes, and every newspaper is the same. Buffalo Bill and the Wild West Show are old hat, but
you're
not, and all of London is in love with you, scamp." His hand slid under the fine linen sheet to caress her intimately then settle on the curve of her bottom. Shelby, meanwhile, pulled the pages closer and read every word, wondering what it was in Geoff's voice that suggested he really wasn't happy about her newfound fame.

She didn't want anything to spoil their perfect morning. Or was it afternoon by now? The fog had burned away and sunlight streamed through the windows facing the Thames. There were silver carts full of dishes on both sides of the bed, and Shelby had balanced a little plate of sliced peaches, buttered scones, and bacon on one of the pillows. The countless moments of bliss that made up the past dozen hours were riches for her soul. Even now she caught herself lazing in Geoff's arms and remembering their exquisite lovemaking at dawn, when the entire bedroom had been drenched in a warm, blushing glow. It was all too wonderful, and Shelby didn't want the mood to be altered by the newspaper stories. Yet... why should Geoff begrudge her a bit of acclaim?

"Well, you have to admit that it's very nice. I mean, in my wildest dreams, I wouldn't have imagined—"

"My love, don't you see that it just makes it harder for
us?
It will be tricky enough, getting free of the wedding to Clemmie, particularly since the invitations have already gone out. But when I trot out my new choice for a bride—"

It was Shelby's turn to interrupt. "You don't need to spell it out." She fell back in the pillows, the corners of her mouth turned down. "Perhaps it would be better to wait a few months, until London Society has forgotten about the terribly undignified spectacle I made of myself as a common
performer.
Then, if we're careful to give me a new name, people might not realize that you're marrying Shelby Matthews. I mean, it's bad enough that I'm an American! Consuelo Vanderbilt might have married the Duke of Marlborough, but she brought a two-million-dollar dowry to soften the blow to the nobility."

Geoff's dark face loomed above her, his hair tousled, tendons standing out in his neck. He looked just wild enough so that Shelby was deliciously frightened. "That's enough!" he commanded.

Her heart jumped; she let him take her, kissing her until she was weak. It seemed that they couldn't get enough of each other. The mere imprint of her breast against his back in the middle of the night had set off a frenzy of half-dreaming lust: kisses that burned tender flesh too long neglected, rough caresses, daring liberties, love sounds given voice, and fulfillment beyond memory.

Now, they clung together, arms and legs twisting in the bed linens, kissing with fresh ardor, endlessly hungry for the sustenance they could only find together. Geoff sank his fingers into her hair which gleamed like brandy spilled over the pillows. Boldly, she returned his stare, her eyes slanting a bit at the corners, and it came to him again that part of the reason he loved her so ravenously was that she would not be tamed, not even for him.