A Growing Passion (4 page)

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Authors: Emma Wildes

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: A Growing Passion
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“At least he isn’t the sort of husband to forbid his wife to have
any
interest in new species of plants. In fact, he would, and does, embrace your unconventional scientific interest.”
“That is one large point in his favor.”
Elaine’s eyebrows lifted and she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Speaking of large, well . . . darling, he did spend some time in bed with Lady Haldon, after all, and she is one to talk. . . . So tell me, is
large
an appropriate term?”
Remembering the sensation of his glorious penetration and how she’d felt stretched deliciously as wide as possible, Victoria took a sip from her glass and responded, “Well, I don’t have a lot of experience, but large seems just about right.”
Lady Wharton sighed and cooed, “You lucky, lucky young thing.”
 
Stephen slid over the window sill and slipped into the darkened depths of the room. It smelled like Victoria, he thought immediately, struck by the gentle fragrance of exotic blooms, his breath coming slightly quick from his climb. Closing the sash to keep out the chill of a clear fall night, he went over and stirred the fire, squatting down and poking at the glowing coals. She would be upstairs any minute, and he was chafing to see her. When he heard voices outside in the corridor, he climbed into the giant armoire, grateful for both the size of it and the overflowing contents.
His future bride, he thought, a bit of lace trim tickling his nose, certainly did not stint with her wardrobe.
But then again, when one had the body of Venus, why not display it? he reminded himself.
The rustling of fabric as her maid helped her undress nearly undid him, even cramped as he was, his body responding to the very idea of her taking off her clothes. When he finally heard her dismiss the girl he sent a prayer heavenward, and at the closing of the door, he shoved open the doors of the armoire and slipped out.
Victoria’s back was to him as she splashed water on her face, her graceful curves enticing, the roundness of her bottom visible through her thin chemise as she bent over. As if she sensed him there staring at her, she suddenly whirled around. He said urgently, “I had to see you.”
A startled gasp emerged at the unexpected presence of someone in her bedroom, but at least she hadn’t screamed, and her fear was immediately replaced by anger. Her eyes, magnificent at any time, sparked. “Stephen, have you ever heard of the front door? If you want to see me, why not simply come calling like any sane person?”
“I don’t just want to
see
you.”
Water still dripped from her nose and ran down her cheeks. He found it inexplicably charming. She grabbed a towel and dabbed at her wet face, saying, “Oh.”
She looked . . . well, beyond alluring. A barefoot goddess with tumbled red-gold hair and abundant breasts, clad only in a thin lacy shift. His hands flexed as he forced himself to not grab her, dump her on the bed, and drive himself deep inside her luscious body. “I need to know,” he said in a strained voice, “who.”
Victoria blinked, the towel suspended in her hands. “Who, what?”
“You weren’t a virgin, you said. And,” he added on a breath, “you were telling the truth. It’s been driving me crazy.”
“It has?” She looked amazed. “Oh, Stephen, it was nothing. One night back in Italy with a handsome young man. . . . Uhm, his name was Cosomo and he was very young and I wasn’t much younger, nineteen. It was pleasant, I guess, but not enough to repeat the performance.” She smiled. “And nothing like the other day. I was more curious than truly in love with him. Italy is, after all, a very romantic place. I allowed myself to be persuaded, but just once.”
He was still unreasonably, obsessively jealous, but one time was better than the torrid love affair he had tortured himself imagining the past three days. He’d thought about almost nothing else. “Didn’t you think you should save yourself for your future husband?” he demanded.
“Didn’t you think you should stay out the bed of that shrewish bitch Lady Haldon?” she asked in sharp retort. “By the way, there will be a line forming for your services if the rumors become anymore lurid, I understand.”
He swallowed hard, flushing a little because she was right, of course. He had vastly more experience than she did, and besides, it was unfair to ask a young woman—a vibrant, intelligent young woman with a great deal of freedom such as Victoria had been given—to not venture into the world of sexual experience. Every childhood argument they’d ever had came rushing back with both of them standing there, glaring and furious. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, a small laugh escaping his lips. “I’m not myself.”
“No?” She gazed at him with almost challenging expectation, those full breasts within reach, her slender body gleaming and arresting. “Why?”
Childhood suddenly seemed far, far away.
“Perhaps I ingested some of those seeds,” he suggested, rewarded when he saw the flare of sexual excitement replace the irritation in her lovely eyes. He asked softly, “Would you like that, if I could go all night, hard inside you the whole time?”
The part about the seeds was a bluff. He hardly needed help to desire her, but he had discovered from that interlude in his study that she was passionate woman, and if her first sexual experience had been a bit lackluster, he was determined to redeem her opinion of the process. The other afternoon had been a good start, but he had much, much more to show her. He planned to seduce her this time, beguile in her every way possible, and maybe, just maybe, persuade her that England was also a romantic place.
Actually, a much more romantic place because they were there together.
“Perhaps,” she admitted, her tone suddenly breathless.
He stalked toward her. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”
 
This was most definitely not the calm, refined scientist she knew. When Stephen reached for her, Victoria felt an almost debilitating wave of excitement at his expression, which seemed to be something between lust and frustration. He swept her up in his arms and fairly tossed her on the bed, undressing with deliberate movements of his long fingers, his expression inscrutable as she sat up in a flurry of loose hair and tangled chemise. Once he was fully nude, she could see that he was splendidly aroused, his erection rigid and distended, his bare chest impressive in the subdued lighting. He was certainly well-built for a man who spent most of his life tenderly coaxing plants to life, she thought, her body already responding to his predatory approach.
When she felt the dip of the mattress, she sighed, feeling the fluid rush between her thighs, knowing that she readied for him, whether she wished it or not.
“You won’t need this.” He peeled her chemise from her body with practiced ease, which, she thought vaguely, she would resent later, since he was being so damned territorial.
Much later
, she told herself, as he loomed over her, touching his mouth to hers at the same time his fingers slid between her legs. He stroked her mouth with his tongue just as he touched and fondled her sex, and she both opened her mouth and legs wider with shameless abandon.
“Tonight,” he lifted his lips from hers and whispered as his fingers pushed into her female passage, “you’re mine, Tori.”
“I was yours,” she gasped out, “the other day.”
He laughed, a low masculine sound. “Actually, I believe I was
yours
then, but now, I want every bit of you. Take my word, you will not need anything but what is between us to enjoy it.”
What he thought he hadn’t possessed she didn’t know, but the delirious pleasure of his fingers moving in and out of her opening was so intense, she could hardly argue. When he shifted, sliding lower, she caught her fingers in his thick, silky hair, her breathing arrested as he pressed his heated mouth to her breast, holding him close as he lavished ardent attention on her sensitive nipples, sucking, nibbling, making her arch and gasp. She was invaded by his touch, possessed by his mouth, her body helpless to resist the potency of his lovemaking.
Which meant perhaps he was right. Maybe the seeds hadn’t had much to do with what had happened that rainy afternoon a few days ago as his skilled touch and the passion with which he’d taken her.
The sensitivity of every nerve ending bore out that startling conclusion, because everywhere he touched her, she felt not only the pleasure of his fingertips and the scalding heat in his blue eyes, but the undeniable connection between them she’d always told herself was just friendship.
Maybe they’d both just been waiting . . . for this.
“Don’t cry out,” he warned softly, and then he lowered himself between her thighs in a shocking position, his mouth gently beginning to nibble at her wet cleft. She wanted to scream at the soft abrasion of his tongue as it slid between her heated folds, her hands fisted in the sheets of her bed, her breath caught in the back of her throat.
She opened wider, if that was possible, lifting her knees and setting her feet on the bed, her legs trembling as he lightly licked and teased, then pressed his mouth to the tiny bud between those tender folds and sucked it gently. The pleasure was so intense she bit her lip to keep from crying out, and the sight of his head between her legs as he pleasured her so wickedly was almost as arousing as his skillful torture.
There was nothing in the world except the exquisite need building inside her, and when he took his fingers and parted her folds to give him more access, she shattered into a thousand pieces as he covered her wet heat and lathed her with his tongue.
He kept her there on that trembling peak until she gasped, “Stop! Oh God, Stephen, I can’t take any more.”
Limp, replete, she was barely aware that he had moved back over her until she felt him kiss the side of her neck, nuzzling the curve of her shoulder as he settled between her unresisting legs. “Do you mind if I borrow your luscious body for a moment, Tori? I believe it’s my turn.”
Her lashes fluttered open at the amused passion in his voice. Looking into his blue eyes, she murmured huskily, “Help yourself.”
“This won’t take long.”
His eyes closed as his crest prodded her entrance, then pushed slowly inside, and she could see the tension and hunger in his face, and the quick rise and fall of his broad chest. Sucking in a breath, she felt him fill her, stretching her wide, pulsing inside her sensitized passage with blatant need.
Through his teeth, he said, “I’m dying for you.”
“Then take me.” Her voice was hushed.
“I’m damned close already just from touching you, tasting you.” He withdrew once to surge forward, and a second time, and on his third plunge he shuddered and stiffened, his entire body going rigid. Victoria could feel the flex of his sex as he climaxed deep inside her, glorying in the rush of hot semen against her womb.
He collapsed then, rolling to his side, wrapping his arms around her, and whispering against her hair, “So much for noble intentions. I tried, but next time, I promise more . . . stamina. Luckily, we have all night.”
“You’re staying?” She was shocked, but then again . . . the idea was tantalizing.
“Just till dawn. Don’t worry I’ll leave discreetly.”
She shouldn’t let him, she should tell him to go. Still uncertain about the limitations of marriage, even to a man as wonderful as Stephen, she knew him well enough that each time he made love to her brought him closer to proposing. She was rather surprised he hadn’t brought the subject up already.
But all night? Could she resist such a glorious offer? Victoria lifted up slightly and looked at him as he lay back on her bed, nude and muscular, his body and face as beautiful as his remarkable mind.
No, he wasn’t the suave and reckless Cosomo, with the moon hanging low over a spectacular Italian villa, but on the other hand, he certainly was a far better lover, and a much more complex man than the one she imagined only had a passion for his work. As she loved adventure, his different facets were more fascinating than she ever imagined.
Who would think a staid botanist could be so interesting?
Who would think that she might be, of all things, in love with
Stephen
?
 
“Are you awake?” He brushed the hair from Victoria’s face, regretfully aware the sun had already tinged the horizon with the faintest hint of light. She was beautiful always, but Stephen liked her most like this; tousled from his lovemaking, replete and exhausted enough she could do little more than flicker her eyelids and mumble his name.
At least he’d finally lived up to his reputation, he thought with wry amusement, because he’d kept her up far too late.
Regretfully he slipped out of her bed, donned his clothes swiftly, and headed for the damned window. He was not the type of man who found scaling walls a gallant, quixotic gesture. Instead he thought there was every chance he might slip and land on his arse in the garden below her window, bruising not just his posterior but also his male pride. But considering the reward of this visit, he was willing to chance it.
He couldn’t say the fair maiden was won, but surely she was . . . persuaded.

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