By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) (26 page)

Lovemaking had never been this all-consuming.

The thought pressed her to send her own hands searching to see what more delights—what more depths—she could uncover and explore. She unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat, then spread her hands greedily over the expanse of linen-draped chest within. Although his lips didn’t leave hers, her touch caused him to pause in his own explorations; she seized the opening, the moment, to extend her discoveries. To exult in the width and breadth of his chest, to test the resiliency of the heavy muscles that banded it.

Then to sweep her hands lower, learning the rigid corrugations of his abdomen before, with one hand, reaching farther…

He sucked in a breath when she found him, hard and rigid and, even through the fabric of his trousers, scalding hot. She palmed his length, and he made a guttural sound.

She traced his erection, with her fingers circled the broad head.

He groaned and caught her hands, leaned into her and kissed her hungrily as he raised her arms and anchored her hands, one trapped in each of his, on the pillow to either side of her head.

His hunger evoked and incited hers; abruptly, the kiss turned ravenous, both of them wanting more.

More
.

Daniel mentally swore and hauled back his desire, reined his passions—too close to slipping their leash—back, in. Not yet. He wanted this night to be everything it could be, not just for him but for her. They had the night for themselves; why not make it perfect?

Even without words, with just the communion of their mouths and bodies, she seemed to understand; her hands shifted beneath his, and her fingers lightly gripped his—in reassurance. In agreement.

Accepting her encouragement, he eased his lips from hers and sent them trailing over the delicate curve of her jaw, then down, tracing the long column of her throat as she arched her head back, giving him better access. Inviting his next touch, his next direction.

Her shawl had fallen open; it lay beneath her, spread across the bed. He left it where it was and instead set his fingers to slipping free the tiny jet buttons closing the front of her gown. He opened the gown to below the line of her hips, then drew his lips from the soft silk of her throat and eased back.

Looking into her face, into her eyes, luminescent with burgeoning desire and just visible beneath the fringe of her lowered lashes, he eased his hand past her gaping bodice and cupped her breast.

The fine cotton of her chemise was no real barrier to the heat of his touch, to the inherently masculine strength of his hand as he closed it about the peaked mound; Claire caught her lower lip between her teeth, let her lids fall as she arched into that oh-so-welcome caress. Her breasts were swollen and heavy, aching for more caresses; her nipples had ruched so tightly, every time he brushed them, sensation flashed through her. For the first time in her life, she fully comprehended the concept of being driven wild.

Then he pressed aside her bodice, cupped her breast, dipped his head, and through the thin cotton, laved her nipple.

She cried out. She was shocked by her own sensitivity—if he could set her nerves afire with lightning even before they were skin to skin, what would it be like when…

Suddenly, she had to know.

She reached up, caught his head and, rearing up, planted her lips on his. Kissed him with her own brand of demand, made her own claiming. Palms cradling his lean cheeks, holding him captive she delved deep into his mouth, and with every feminine wile she possessed, she called to him, her counterpart, her mate.

And on a surge of molten passion, he responded, meeting her fire with his. Their desires waged a sensual war, first his, then hers in the ascendancy, control of the kiss passing from her to him and back again, yet neither held any supremacy in this sphere.

Neither could hold onto their reins, either.

They snapped and cindered in the erupting heat.

Released, passion welled and swelled.

Between them, the heated tide swirled dizzyingly higher, hotter, sizzling and scalding as they both poured every ounce of their need onto their fire.

Every last iota of their urgency—of their urgent, escalating need to be one, to join, and share, and ride the wave of their runaway desires to the passion-filled end.

Their fire roared and flames licked their flesh, tempting, cajoling. Ravenously riveting.

They broke from the kiss, gasping, panting, chests heaving like bellows as their eyes briefly met and they sensed the onrushing tide.

On a hitched breath, on a wordless cry, they dove back into the kiss and the wave of their need crashed over them both.

Heat escalated, flames seared, and the conflagration expanded. Senses heightened, muscles tightened and locked, they clung together in the maelstrom, lips fused, desires matched, and in desperate accord let the swelling power sweep them up and on, until one and only one consuming need filled them.

More
.

They were greedy, ravenous, desperately wanting.

All control went tumbling. Hands shaking, fumbling, heated and panting, she pushed his coat wide and back off his shoulders. Fired with need, he slid her gown over her shoulders and down her arms.

They had barely enough sense left not to rip their clothes; it was a wonder no buttons went flying.

This garment, then that, fell to the floor. He had to sit up to remove his boots. He hissed with pleasure when, clad only in her fine chemise, she pressed herself to his back, reaching around him to run her hands over his naked chest.

His boots hit the floor, dropped any old how. He stood and, his back to her, stripped off his breeches and undergarments; her busy hands were already caressing his hips and buttocks as he tossed the clothing aside.

Then he turned—and saw her look directly at his jutting member, saw delight spread wide across her face as she reached—

He caught her hand, tumbled her back on the bed. Leaning over her, he wrestled and worked and finally drew her chemise away. He held it out from the bed, suspended from the fingers of one hand as he looked down on her, looked his fill at all he’d revealed.

Wonder dried his mouth.

Desire seized him by the throat.

Need—pure and unadulterated—sank its spurs deep.

“You are…glory personified.” The words were gravelly, harsh and low.

The siren he’d had no notion lived inside prim Mrs. Claire Meadows looked up at him from her honey-gold eyes.

Then her lips curved in the most wanton smile he’d ever seen, and she reached up and drew him down to her.

He went. He had no will left beyond the compelling need to have her. To love her. To make her his.

She welcomed him with her arms, with her eyes, with her lips, with her body.

They fell into each other, back into the kiss.

Back into the still-swirling maelstrom of their passions.

Urgency pounded in their heads, in their hearts, in their blood, yet…

Despite being in a room at the top of a tower, despite the fire in the hearth, despite the flames that even now heated their skins from the inside out, the air was too chilly to lie naked and exposed.

Both realized and accepted that at the same time. Between them, with swift, urgent, jerky movements, they stripped back the covers, then tumbled beneath.

Straight into each other’s arms.

He settled upon her, and she held him close. He parted her thighs with his, and she shifted and made space for him there, cradling his hips between her silken limbs. Even as he reached down to fit himself to her, the scalding wetness of her welcome bathed the head of his erection.

She shifted, tilted her hips in the same instant he pressed in.

Lids falling, he pushed deeper.

He heard her breath catch as, on a slow glide, he forged on; heard that breath release on a soft sigh as he came to rest embedded deep within her.

Eyes closed, Claire let sensation swamp her. She had never felt so full, so stretched. So complete. Had never felt the same intimacy—the same passionate closeness—she was experiencing now. Lovemaking had never been this intense.

Then he started to move, and she realized on a mental gasp that she had never truly made love before.

Not like this. Not with desire searing her nerves, with passion thudding in her veins, with love overflowing her heart.

Surrendering to the force that drove her, that had compelled her to accept him no matter the risk, that had shown her the way to love and be loved, she wrapped her arms about him as far as she could reach and went with him, into the dance that was like no other, onward on their journey to the end of the known world.

As if to make amends for their earlier impetuosity, they started slowly and only gradually increased the tempo, taking the time, stealing the moments, to meet each other’s gaze, to wordlessly share…everything.

Intimacy
.

Daniel had always imagined it would be like this, that when he found the right lady the act with her would be infused with this incredible, indescribable togetherness. But that had been pure speculation and he’d never known if he was simply being fanciful…

She’d taken his heart and made it come alive.

Now she took his dreams and made them real.

And as they traveled on, skins slick with desire, their bodies ceaselessly merging, their senses wrapped around each other, their conscious awarenesses entwined and submerged, each in the other, as he hung his head and, gasping, breaths mingling, they pushed on and the pace escalated and they climbed the final peak, she stayed with him. Her body eased as he withdrew, clung when he pressed in, accepting and embracing.

Urging him on.

Then they were there and the pinnacle beckoned, and in joyous accord they raced the last way and flung themselves from the peak—

And shattered.

Glory shot down every vein, frazzled every nerve, and filled their minds with blinding wonder.

Their senses fragmented.

The supernova of sensation expanded, swallowing them and their world.

And in that moment of utter openness, blindly reaching, she touched her lips to his.

Drank in his soul, gave him hers in return, and finally made him whole.

She gave him all she was; she gave him her everything.

Slumping upon her, wracked beyond belief, Daniel held her close, held her deep in his soul, and knew beyond question that she was and always would be his all.

* * *

Later, when they’d finally disengaged and settled in the bed, lying with legs entwined, him on his back and her wrapped around him, courtesy of the narrowness of the mattress—an amenity about which he felt no reason to complain—she sighed and sank deeper into his arms. “I’ll have to give notice and move down to Devon.”

He angled his head, trying to see her face; she didn’t sound too perturbed… “How do you think they—the family—will take it?”

“Actually, I hadn’t really allowed myself to dwell on it before.” She glanced up at his face. “It was a trifle disconcerting. But Juliet is already fourteen, and like all the females of the family, she is, if anything, precocious. I’ve already taught her most, if not all, I can. She really needs a finishing governess, one who can prepare her to take her place in the haut ton, which is not something I can do.”

“So you don’t think they’ll create a fuss?”

“I’ll be surprised if they do.” She paused, then said, “But how will we manage? Are there any families near Colyton with whom I might be able to get a day position?”

“You won’t need to work, not unless you wish to. As I mentioned, I have a new position with an increased stipend, enough to support a wife and family—especially in Colyton, which is not London, after all.” He caught her gaze as she glanced up again. “My only concern was that the Rupert Cynsters might have felt hard done by if I lured you away, and Alasdair and Phyllida would therefore not approve…although, truth to tell, that’s not generally their way.”

“No, I agree. The families are usually quite supportive of their staff… Well, just as they have been with you.”

“Indeed.” He lifted her hand from where she’d spread it on his chest, raised it to his lips and placed a kiss in her palm. “So tomorrow we’ll take our respective bulls by their horns and explain our wishes, and see what comes.”

She didn’t like taking—facing the prospect of—any sort of risk; he could see that in the anxiety that seeped into her expression, but she drew in a breath and, lips firming, nodded. “Yes. Let’s do it tomorrow. Delaying won’t solve it, and one never does know when one or the other gentleman might be summoned south again.”

“Precisely my thoughts.” He set her hand back on his chest.

She seemed to settle, sinking more deeply into his arms as he closed them about her.

With the bliss of aftermath thrumming like a golden chord throughout his being, he was content to let the matter rest; they would deal with it tomorrow, and he felt sure all would be well.

His lids grew heavy, and he let them close.

He was on the cusp of sleep when she murmured, “I don’t know why, for I can’t possibly know it for fact, yet somehow I feel certain that our path forward will be clear. That there will be no impediment and all will work out perfectly.” She paused, then even more quietly said, “I think it’s this place. It’s not exactly alive, yet it feels as if it’s sentient—as if it has power and can make things happen.”

Hovering close to the land of dreams, he saw no reason to argue. He flattened his hand over hers where it lay over his heart and murmured back, “I think it’s the Lady and her magic.”

CHAPTER 11

At the manor, the principal celebration of the Feast of St. Stephen was literally a feast that started at noon and rolled on through the afternoon. The revelries were well underway, the food served and consumed and the platters cleared, and Richard and Catriona, standing at one end of the high table, had commenced the presentations of the traditional boxes, one to every family who lived and worked on the manor lands, when from the corner of her eye, Lucilla saw a footman enter from the front hall.

The footman made his way to Polby and spoke quietly. Polby looked surprised. He glanced toward Lucilla and Marcus, then Polby rose and followed the footman back into the front hall.