A Most Improper Rumor (8 page)

He listened, did not hear the sound of voices, which told him she was alone, and opened the door.

She wasn’t in bed but stood by the window, gazing outside, her expression melancholy. Her lustrous hair, so dark it held a hint of blue in the sunlight, hung loose to her hips, and she wore a simple nightdress in virginal white that made her look very young.

And so beautiful, it took his breath away.

Apparently so lost in thought she didn’t hear him, it wasn’t until the door clicked shut that she turned, her lips parting in surprise. “Christopher.”

He arched a brow and tugged at his cravat. “You weren’t expecting someone else, I hope.”

Luminous gray eyes watched the movement of his fingers as he deftly discarded his neckcloth and began to unbutton his shirt. “No,” she said softly. “Only you.”

“There were men at the soiree this evening who would be disappointed to hear that.” With unhidden restive possessiveness, he held her gaze. “It wasn’t because of those damned rumors they were staring at you. I’ve never thought of myself as a jealous man, but then again, I’ve never loved a woman before. It is going to take some adjustment.”

“What about you?” Angelina folded her arms under her breasts, a pose he didn’t think was meant to be provocative, but it did draw his attention to their molded fullness, the memory of how that firm, smooth flesh felt cradled in his hands making him tear his shirt from his breeches, his erection swelling.

He asked, “What about me in what way? I don’t think I understand the question.”

“Those young beauties, vying for your attention.” She hesitated, then whispered, “They can offer you so much more than I can.”

He sat down to take off his boots. “Hmm, would it be impolite of me to argue with a lady? Like what, my love? Passion? I’m afraid you do very well there. Companionship? I hope I am not the only one who enjoys the stolen moments we have together for long walks and conversation. Joy? I sincerely doubt any of them could make me smile just at the mere thought of the music of their laughter, or the touch of their hand. Now then, with that settled, I find myself more interested in a demonstration of
my
deep affection.”

When he stood and stripped off his breeches, his cock stiff and prominent, her gaze dropped to his erection and she laughed breathlessly. “I can see that, my lord.”

At least he’d managed to banish that bleak expression from her face.

Later he’d apologize for coercing her into the misery of the evening behind them, but for now he wanted to make love to her so badly, a light sweat had broken out over his entire body and his pulse pounded.

“Come here,” he ordered with the rasp of desire in the command.

Chapter 9

C
ome here
.

Perhaps the autocratic tone of Christopher’s voice should have annoyed her, but she couldn’t resist him now any more than she’d been able to stop that initial seduction. Angelina obeyed, walking toward where he stood, nude and magnificently aroused, even though they hadn’t as much as touched each other yet.

Her body was just as wayward. Her breasts were tight, the tips sensitive where the thin material of her night dress brushed them, and her belly fluttered. She could feel the sudden heat between her legs and when he reached for her to sweep her body up against his, she went willingly—no, eagerly.

Her arms twined around his neck.

“I want you.” He lowered his head and kissed her, molding his mouth to hers with heated urgency, his tongue invading, taking and giving, gentle but insistent. She kissed him back with fervor, reveling in the hard contours of muscle and bone as her hands drifted to his smooth, broad shoulders.

“This needs to come off.” He tugged at the ribbon on the neckline of her nightdress until it pulled free and the loosened material slid downward. One hand moved to cup her exposed flesh, fingers lightly stroking as her eyes drifted shut in pure enjoyment.

It had taken quite a bit of persuasion and a good deal of patience for her to relax and begin to enjoy lovemaking, not to mention standing nude in front of him with the light still burning. William had been businesslike about sexual intimacy, taking his pleasure swiftly and remaining unconcerned about hers. Thomas had tried a little harder to be at least tender, but he had been impatient by nature, and always it had been over too quickly, leaving her with nothing more than a glimpse of what could be. Since she hadn’t known it could be different, she hadn’t felt particularly cheated until she’d met Christopher.

Then her world changed.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

His mouth brushed her cheek as he fondled her. “You are so perfect.”

Daringly she reached between them to circle his stiff cock with her fingers. It was hot and satiny hard against her palm. “So are you.”

He gave a low telling groan of pleasure. “Don’t test me, love.”

A smile teased her lips. “You are always telling me to touch you, and yet when I do—”

That statement ended in a gasp as he swiftly disengaged her circling fingers and carried her to the bed. He deposited her against the soft coverlet and slid on top of her in one smooth athletic motion. Pure azure eyes looked into hers, his skin a light bronze from being outside so often supervising his building projects. The contrast was almost startling, his arched brows a darker shade than his curling fair hair, his mouth curved in a mesmerizing smile. He nuzzled her throat, his hand stroking downward to touch her intimately, one long finger sliding into her feminine passage, making her muscles tighten in involuntary response to that erotic invasion. “Wet and welcoming,” he murmured against her skin. “Ready for me.”

“Always.” Angelina arched shamelessly, opening as his thumb did a slow swirl in exactly the right spot, sending spikes of pleasure through her entire body. Sexual emancipation had been a revelation, and he’d encouraged her from that very first encounter to openly enjoy her response to his touch, each kiss, and the ultimate consummation between man and woman. It wasn’t unladylike, he’d whispered in her ear, his breath warm, his hands caressing. In bed there was no such thing as a lady. She was a woman and he was a man, and they desired each other.

She certainly desired him
now
. Her hips lifted into the inward and outward glide of his finger as he mimicked the act of sexual intercourse manually and her hands tightened on his forearms. “Christopher, please.”

The single lamp sent shadows over his sculpted features. “Please what?” he asked teasingly.

With a brush of her fingertips, she ran her hand the length of his erection. “I need you inside me.”

“How gratifying, as that is exactly where I want to be.”

With deliberate, tantalizing care, he slid his finger free and instead rose above her, positioning himself at her entrance, lightly nudging so she shuddered in pleasure before he began to penetrate, not with a swift thrust, but inch by slow inch until she was almost wild to have him as deeply as possible, her hands clutching his bare shoulders.

Then they were one, together, fully joined, and as if he read her mind, he whispered against her lips, “I’m part of you.”

He was even when they weren’t making love, in her heart, in her very soul. “I love you,” she whispered back. “So much. Too much.”

“It’s never too much.” He slid a fraction backward and sank in again, sending tingles along every nerve ending. “Never. Give me everything and I promise you will not regret it.”

But he might, she disagreed in silent rapturous harmony with his increasing thrusts, her body attuned to his rhythm, her pants gradually turning into sighs, and then a moan escaping as the pleasure escalated until it was almost unbearable. She teetered on the edge and fell over, plunging downward in a maelstrom of exquisite sensation, and dimly she knew he went with her, his tall body going rigid, his seed spilling into her as he gasped her name.

They lay quiet, gathering their breath, each one, if she had to guess, waiting for the other to speak.

He did so first, lifting up to brace himself on his elbows, his expression serious. “I wish to offer an apology.” His fingertips brushed her hair back from her cheek. “I was wrong about this evening. The moment you walked in the door, I saw how much you despised being there, and now I think I see more clearly why. Not because I don’t believe that it wouldn’t be best to brave society once again to show you have nothing to hide, but because it comes at too great a cost to you.”

It was odd, but though it had hardly been an enjoyable evening, she had a different reaction than anticipated to what had happened. She gazed up at him, comfortable, sated, pressed to the soft mattress by his balanced weight, their bodies still joined. “I don’t know. At first I wanted no part of what you suggested, but though I didn’t enjoy the humiliation of all those malicious glances and backhanded whispers, maybe you are right. I have been keeping myself apart because it is easier than enduring society’s censure. It seemed logical . . . It is not easy to know people think so ill of you. However, Lady Heathton certainly was more than friendly, and I know Eve will be, and I have a few other—though not many—friends who will support me if I choose to be part of the season next year. What I am saying is that upon contemplation, I think rejoining society now, when the whirl has all but died down, was not such a terrible idea after all.”

Those oh-so-blue eyes were intent. “I don’t want you to do this for me.”

“Partially for you,” she admitted, “but also for myself. I don’t know that I wish to return to the ranks of the aristocracy as a respectable woman as much as I want to make sure our future, and that of any children we may have, is safe from ugly gossip.”

Children. She hadn’t conceived with either of her husbands, but then again, she hadn’t been married all that long to either one of them.

She’d known Christopher long enough to fall deeply in love, to wish to share his life, to know he was the man who could give her everything she ever dreamed of . . .

And it terrified her.

* * *

Reluctantly, Christopher eased free from Angelina’s lissome body, his heartbeat finally starting to slow to a normal pace. Superimposed against the pale blue coverlet—he hadn’t even bothered to sweep it back before he so impetuously took her—she was pure female beauty, her skin flushed from orgasmic release, her ebony hair tumbled around her pale shoulders, her lips parted and damp from his attentions. Her full breasts still lifted rapidly with each quick breath, the succulent flesh tipped by perfect rose nipples, and later, when they were both ready again, he planned on tasting his fill, sucking them to high points, and maybe even tasting the essence of her desire between her legs as he brought her to climax with his lips and tongue, but for now, they needed to talk.

Lifting to one elbow, he touched her shoulder, just a brush, almost tentative, and he was not a tentative man. “I’ve wondered what will happen if you become pregnant. I am not deliberately trying to take the course of forcing your hand, Angelina; you know I wouldn’t. But while there are measures a man can take to prevent conception, I have not used any of them. I’ve instead left it in the hands of God or fate, whichever is in charge of our destinies, at this point.”

They hadn’t discussed it before—he was afraid to bring up such a potentially volatile subject and she hadn’t mentioned it either before now. Her silver eyes gazed at him in open inquiry and her smooth forehead wrinkled. “What measures?”

At least he’d distracted her from the unpleasantness of her arrival at the Greggston affair. He could still feel the surge of anger over the sudden stillness of the room as she stood there poised in the entrance, so lovely that not a man in attendance wasn’t moved, and at a guess, no woman hadn’t experienced a twinge at least of envy.

He ran his finger along Angelina’s lower lip and smiled. “Hmm, you aren’t very worldly for such a notorious lady, are you?”

“No.”

“There are certain devices, sheepskins, for instance, a man can use to catch his seed.”

Lush and nubile, Angelina rolled to face him. “How?”

He took delight in her curiosity. “He places it over his cock.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrowed.

“Then there are Greek sponges. The female puts them inside her and when the male climaxes, the sponges absorb his discharge.”

“This is all rather fascinating.” She playfully ran her fingers down his arm. “What else don’t I know?”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “The depth of how much I love you. Marry me.”

He’d asked before. She’d always avoided a straight answer.

“I can’t . . . not yet.” She averted her face, breaking eye contact. “It’s far too dangerous.”

As much as he wanted to ridicule her fears, to promise her he could protect himself, they’d had the argument before and he’d lost each time because he was afraid if he was too adamant, she would simply sever the relationship and retreat again into her self-imposed exile.

“When Heathton is successful?”

That widened her glorious eyes. “How do you—”

He shrugged. “He came to see me. Surely if his reputation is such you’d seek him out to help you, it is pure logic that he could figure out quite quickly who your lover might be. Otherwise wouldn’t your trust be misplaced?”

Her delicate features registered chagrin. “I was hoping to keep your identity safe. I’ve told no one.”

“Nor I,” he said with due weight to his words. “Don’t ask me how he knows, but he does. So our little secret is out, at least to him. Doesn’t that mean perhaps someone else also knows? I am not sure if your precautions are necessary or effective.”

She visibly paled, the color leaching from her face. “Don’t say that. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk you . . . Oh God. I am the most selfish creature on earth, but you make me
happy
.”

Christopher wiped the pearl of a tear off her cheek with a forefinger. “It isn’t selfish to wish to be happy, darling. You deserve it. I want nothing more than to continue to make you happy. For the rest of our lives. Shouldn’t we wed and deal with this together?”

“No.” She shook her head, her heavy hair moving across her trembling shoulders. “You don’t understand.”

He thought he understood all too well. He was not only older, but more worldly, and the only way to heal her wounds was to move forward. “Angelina—”

In answer she kissed him, pressing against him hard enough he tumbled to his back willingly, especially when she moved to straddle his waist, running her nails lightly down his chest, the curtain of her silken hair swinging forward, the sweetness of her fragrance surrounding him, mingling with the earthier scent of their lovemaking.

“Must we talk about it?”

Yes, of course they must, but it appeared she wasn’t ready.

If she wished to deal with her demons this way, he would let her, and gladly, but it was just a measure of postponement, and he knew it, and he thought she did as well.

But putting off the inevitable reckoning, he discovered as she brought him to full arousal, was his pleasure.

When she rose and sheathed him deeply as she sat on his hips, he closed his eyes and let her move sinuously in erotic rhythm to each lift of his pelvis. It wasn’t long before he saw the signs of her rising climax, and she made an inarticulate sound when he reached between them and touched her in exactly the spot he knew would tip the balance between the climb and the summit. A keening cry echoed in the room when she went still, her thighs tightening around him, and he thrust up once more, his own burst of pleasure so explosive he shuddered as she collapsed forward, his arms coming up to hold her tightly against him.

She fell asleep not long after he adjusted their position so she was nestled against him, his front to her back, the soft weight of her breasts on his encircling arm. The lamp glowed, but it was going out, the waver of the light fickle in the darkness. If he could spend each night this way, he thought as he lay there sleepless and mentally restless even if his body was satisfied, he would be content for the entirety of his life.

This woman, a bed at night for them to share, her smile across the breakfast table, the sound of their children laughing . . .

He loved his work. He understood drive, passion, and the quest for excellence in form and artistic beauty. Structures lasted often for centuries and he’d put his mark on this world.

Love was just as enduring, he thought as he listened to her breathe softly. Their children would have children and the generations would go on, much like his beloved buildings, standing against the encroachment of time . . .

It wasn’t to be wasted, not a single moment.

Whatever her reservations, he was determined they should marry as soon as possible.