0062412949 (R) (34 page)

“Shh,” he replied, his own breath shallow. He scraped his palms downward, learning every contour, while his fingertips feathered across her belly.

And now up again. His knuckles grazed the underside of her breasts.

Down again. Her shift was bunched at her waist; her open dress hung from her body.

Piety arched her back, and he seized her, his hands locking around her waist. He nudged closer. She could feel the heat of him from her neck to her heels.

“You are perfection, Piety,” he whispered against her ear. “I don’t deserve you. Not even for one night.”

“Perhaps, but I do,” she whispered back. “For memory’s sake. One night to cherish forever. No one ever need know.”

She heard him swallow hard. His hands made another slow, massaging perusal of her back, her belly, the rounded curve of her breasts. Piety made a gasping sound, and her legs began to give way. She stumbled. He steadied her.

“I . . . I don’t understand why you would offer yourself to me like this.”

She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t understand why you would refuse.”

He growled at that, gathering her tightly against his chest. She felt his arousal against her bottom, his broad chest against her bare shoulders. He bent beside her head, burying his face in her hair.

“I cannot resist you. I promised myself that I would leave this union having only given aid. I would not have you hate me. But I guarantee it, Piety, to carry on like this will plant the seed of something very near hate. Resentment . . . ” He pressed his lips to her neck, not a kiss, simply a melding of his mouth to her skin.

“I love you, Trevor.” She sagged against him. “There can be no hate.”

How good it felt to finally say it. So good, she almost laughed. She wanted to laugh, to fly, to love him with her body like she loved him with her heart.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and raised her chin, offering her neck, her mouth. “You must have known that I love you. I will always love you, regardless.”

He opened his mouth to answer her or to kiss her, but a knock sounded at the door.

Piety let out a small gasp, and Trevor looked up.

He reached for the sagging bodice of her dress and drew it to her, hooking it on her shoulders. He stood her upright and gently set her apart. She stumbled again, and he balanced her on her own two feet.

“Piety,” he said in a firm voice, “go into the maid’s anteroom. Do not come out until I call you.”

“But I—”

“In this you may not argue. I am expecting Joseph. With a message. Likely, it’s nothing more, but I need you to go.
Now
.”

“Joseph?”

“Piety,
go
!” He set her away from him, shoving her gently in the direction of the door.

She went, holding her dress loosely around her. She reached the threshold but turned to hover, watching him. Instead of crossing to the door, Trevor edged up from the side, laying himself flat against the wall, listening, studying the knob.

All of this for Joseph?

A prickly sense of alarm burned the back of her neck, and she shuffled two steps back.

Beside the door, Trevor whispered the boy’s name. There was some answer, and he cautiously unlocked the key and opened the door. Slowly, he edged out, his head alone. Whispering ensued. Trevor nodded, asked something, nodded again. He stood so rigid; his face was so grim. He spoke in harsh, clipped words. The entire exchange embodied dread.

Now he spared a glance back. He caught sight of her and made a face, slicing the air with a curt gesture.
Stay back.

Piety skittered back, but she could still see him. There was more whispering, glances up and down the hall, a check to the clock on the mantle. She saw him nod once, twice, and then softly shut the door, clicking the lock firmly in place. He sighed heavily and leaned against the wood, scrunching his eyes shut.

She disappeared into the tiny room. After a moment, she called his name.

Silence.

She tried again, “Trevor, is anything the matter?” She kicked her shoes from her feet and hiked up her skirt to peel off her stockings.

“It’s nothing,” Trevor called back. She heard him prowling the room.

“May I come out?”

Another silence.

She went still and looked up.

The length of the quiet was deafening, and she felt the charged passion drain from the room. The reckless intimacy had slipped away. He was cautious and closed again.

Piety squeezed her eyes shut and bit back a yelp of frustration. She took three calming breaths. She looked down at her body, still tingling from his touch. The bodice of her dress sagged at her waist.

There was only one thing to do.

Working quickly, she finished tugging her stockings free and jerked the dress from her body. Next she shed her petticoats, leaving them in a frilly heap on the floor, and slipped from her shift. Her drawers were last, and she hesitated only a moment before shimmying them off.

“Trevor?” she called again. A bold, new power made her voice strong.

She shook back her hair and walked, naked, into the room.

“Piety, I’m not su—” He stared with an expression so hot, she felt the sizzle on her skin. He drank in the sight of her.

She went to him, and God love him, he met her more than halfway. They collided in the center of the room, and he snatched her to his chest. Only her name—a whisper, a wish—escaped his lips as he descended, kissing her.

Piety returned his ardor, kissing him back, grabbing handfuls of the cotton of his shirt.

“Why must you make yourself impossible for any reasonable man to resist?” He swept her into his arms, striding to the bed. He tossed her in the center and she laughed. Suddenly shy, she scrambled for the coverlet. She looked up, expecting to share in the laugh, but his expression had gone serious. He studied her with something akin to reverence and an unerring need. Her laughter faded away, and she sat back on her haunches. She let the coverlet fall.

Falcondale growled, pulling off his shirt in rough, staccato movements, never taking his eyes from hers.

She lifted her chin, welcoming his gaze and rose up. She kneed to the edge of the bed. He froze in the act of removing his shirt, stricken by the sight of her, and she laughed and reached for him, peeling the shirt back and tossing it to the floor.

When he was bare to the waist, he put his knee on the mattress and nudged her back, chasing his hands in hungry circles across her back. She landed against the pillows with a soft
thump,
and he followed her down, spreading himself on top of her.

It was new—laying beneath him—and the weight of him and the head-to-toe contact set off a new awakening. She reveled in the tickle of the hair on his chest against her breasts, the immovable, muscled hardness of his shoulders, the musky scent of his closeness. Her hands moved of their own accord, exploring every contour.

“Piety, there is a way.” His breath quickened from kissing her. “A way to give you pleasure without sacrificing your virginity.” He pulled away and stared down at her. “But if we lose control? I do not want to risk that.”

She urged him on. “Risk it.”

He laughed and ran a heavy hand over the dips and swells of her torso, setting off a trail of shivery sensation. When he reached her knee, he grabbed the tangled wad of the coverlet and tugged it down.

“This is so much better than chess,” he said, rising up to stare at her body again. She laughed, and he pounced on her mouth, smothering the sound.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

M
aking love to Piety on his wedding night was perhaps the first reckless, indulgent, truly
selfish
thing Trevor had allowed himself in fifteen long years of self-sacrifice and restraint.

Well,
almost
making love to his wife.

He reminded himself of this critical provision again and again as he devoured her body with his hands and kissed her until he could barely remember his name.

It will be enough
, he told himself, trying to reason through the lust fogging his brain.

It would, in truth, be too much, considering he’d put the annulment in serious jeopardy merely by touching her. Their future rapport was destroyed for certain. She’d told him she loved him, for God’s sake. And now this?

Why, he wondered, could he not stop? Was he such a slave to his desires? To her body? Was he rotten to the core? He wanted, needed, to mete this out—what was
wrong
with him—but at the moment, everything seemed so very right. His ability to reason, right from wrong, was rapidly vanishing.

Beneath him, she widened her legs, allowing their bodies to slide together—a timeless, perfect fit. They both sighed; it felt universally
right
. Piety laughed, making no effort to hide her delight. Naturally she would smile and exude happiness and light, even in bed.

Trevor tried to hold himself up and
away
, but she laughed again and hitched up her knees. He was given no choice but to surrender. A growl. Another kiss. He dropped against her. His only hope for holding back was the sobering memory of Janos Straka sitting among the guests at his wedding.

He’d charged Joseph with learning where Straka had gone and his general purpose; but the boy had returned empty-handed. It was careless to leave these questions unanswered—dangerous, really—but at the moment . . .

It would do.

If it allowed for
this.

Not
all
the way
, he somehow managed to remind himself, kissing the soft skin of her ear, reveling in the silky, fragrant veil of her hair. He would stop
just
short. And in the morning, he would leave her in the safety of Joseph’s guard, while he, himself, located and dealt with Straka.

But tonight . . .

Trevor worked his way back to her mouth, scrambling to capture her hands in his own. If she didn’t stop the sweet torture of her touch, he would not last. Naturally, she would not cooperate, and her hands skittered away. Trevor growled and went up on one elbow.

It was impossible not to stare. If he had to have a wife—and, considering her circumstances, he absolutely
did
have to have a wife—why not have the most perfect specimen of the female form?

He reached out, wanting to memorize her body: the perfect curve of her breast, the rise of her hip beyond the indention of her waist, the ticklish crease beneath her deliciously rounded bottom, the space behind her knee, the arch of her tiny foot.

She allowed it, murmuring and sighing, writhing beneath his touch, driving him to a new level of distraction with her enthusiastic response. He’d thought he would not undress any further—every article of clothing was another barrier against losing control—but now trousers seemed entirely out of the question. He would die if he weren’t naked beside her. Just the briefest of moments. As she’d said: just one night.

When she realized his purpose, she sat up and watched him peel the trousers away with wide, curious eyes. It was a whole new level of seduction. Every delighted intake of breath, every bend of her head, every expression of pleasure only served to drive his need.

“May I touch?” she asked, already reaching for him.

Trevor chuckled and collapsed on the bed beside her, kicking the trousers free. “I want you,” was all he could think to say, and Piety, God love her, considered that an affirmation. Lightly at first, so lightly he thought he would burst, she tickled and brushed and tested, but then he found her breast with his mouth, and she lost focus, throwing her head back and grabbing him.

“
Piety
, we mu—” He broke into a laugh because, with one grip, she had rendered him unable to even speak.

“Oh,” she said. She arched against him. “I’ve only just . . . ”

“There is more; there is better,” he said. He skated his hand down her arm until he found her wrist and managed to pull her away. “You cannot touch me like this.”

“But why?” She moaned with desire. “You are so touchable.” She reached out again.

“Yes.” He kissed her. “But I’ll embarrass myself. Let us return to that, er, later.” He gathered her beneath him. She sighed, squaring herself. He found her mouth, allowing himself to feast like never before. No chaperones, no hiding in the dusty music room. Simply his wife, moving beneath him, learning the rhythm, stoking his desire to unknown heat.

When he felt her begin to seek, to
need
as he needed, his thin rein on control snapped.

Instinct took over, rational thought vanished, and he rose, poised to finish it. Some primal reaction answered him, and she slid, centered, and opened. She softly called his name.

“Piety, no.” He took a shuddering breath, the ebb and flow of reason washing back. He rolled to one side. “What are we doing? We cannot.”

He wanted to weep, but instead he kissed her and rocked against her body, mimicking what he truly wanted. Each push was heaven, yet out of reach.

Moving expertly for someone so new, she rocked back, driving him rapidly to the edge. His fingertips fumbled against her skin and then stopped, entirely without use.

Never had he been like this. Never. She consumed him completely.

“Stop.” He moaned as he rose over her. “Piety, please. We must
stop
. I can help you, without—I never meant to go this far.”

“Oh, God, Trevor, it’s so . . . it so . . . ” she whispered, struggling to articulate. “I can feel it, and I don’t know even what it is. Don’t you want it?” she asked, her hands clinging around his neck.

“Yes, I bloody want it,” he said. “I’ve wanted it since the first moment I saw you. But I’m trying to protect you.”

“Love me, Trevor!” She wasn’t above begging. “I’ll stop if you make me yours.”

“No.”

“
Yes
. I don’t care about the rest. Give this to us: this memory. Something to hold to when you’ve gone. We’re married. How can it be wrong?”

“Piety, stop.”

“I won’t.”