Corey McFadden (35 page)

So it all came down to how he managed the next few minutes. It seemed the carriage had grown suddenly very warm. Very warm, indeed. “Elspeth, do you remember the afternoon when I came upon you in your bath?” he asked, keeping his voice soft. He slid his hand to the back of her neck and rubbed it gently.

“Oh, I do!” she said breathlessly. In the dim of twilight he could still see the deep blush that suffused her cheeks. “You must have thought me a dreadful wanton....” She looked so apprehensive, it was all he could do not to crush her to him.

“I thought then, and still do, that you are the most beautiful, the most passionate, the most desirable woman I have ever known, Elspeth,” he said simply. Unable to stop himself, he pulled her face close and couched his lips to hers, gently at first. She tasted so delicious; her lips were so soft and yielding against his own. He drank in the taste of her, deepening the kiss. Then he pulled away. Holding her head in his hands, he looked into the green depths of her eyes. “I love you exactly the way you are, my darling. From the beginning, I knew you for a deep intellect and rare wit, but it is utter joy to find passion in you as well. A woman, a real lady, is permitted to take her pleasure with her husband. I should be terribly disappointed if you did not find making love with me pleasurable for you. In fact, I intend to explore every inch of you as I promised once to do, to learn what gives you pleasure. I want you to look forward to our lovemaking, not fear it, or, worse”— he broke off with a mock shiver—“plan your next party. My God, Elspeth, I want you to want me the way I want you!” he cried, and pulled her to him again, crushing her in his embrace.

For a moment he just held her, feeling her heart beat beneath his own. Had he frightened her? Very gently, he pulled back, keeping his hands on her shoulders. He peered into her eyes, barely visible in the darkness. In their swimming green depths, he read only love. He lowered his lips to hers, again, slowly, carefully, letting them brush against her softness. Her lips yielded to his, and he could feel her hands moving around his waist to his back, until she held him as closely as he held her. For a moment he played against her lips with his own, then deepened the kiss, his tongue lightly brushing hers, then probing more deeply the warmth of her mouth. She tightened her arm about him, and he groaned and pulled her closer. Now his lips left hers, tracing down her cheek, to her neck. She threw her head back, and he heard her soft moan as he drew his lips down, down her neck, coming to rest where her flesh met the top of her décolletage. More silk, more lace—never had he been so sick of the stuff!

He moved his hand up to her neckline. Where his fingers brushed against her skin, they burned with the heat of her. It was difficult to control himself, but he made his hands move softly, slowly, as he pulled down gently on the material, freeing her breast from the silks. She gasped as his fingers found the nipple and circled it. He lowered his lips yet again from her neck to the pink bud, taking it gently into his mouth, as his tongue found it and teased it to tautness.

“Oh, Elspeth,” he gasped, breathing against her skin.

His tongue continued to tease her nipple as his hand moved down, down to her waist, across her hip. He pulled at the silken fabric that seemed to encase her everywhere, pulling it up, up, seeming yards and yards of it, till he could feet the flesh of her thigh against his fingers. And now his hand moved again across her silken belly, down to that place he had so long wanted to touch. She gasped and pulled back as his fingers found her place of secrets, but with his other hand he held her close. He probed gently, feeling her silky and damp beneath his touch. She arched her back and moaned, now pushing against him. It was almost a shock to feel that now her hand was moving as well, down his back, over his hip, coming to rest at the front placket of his breeches. He could feel her fumbling at the fastenings and could hardly think as the blood pounded in his head. He moved his hand to help her and got himself undone. His tumescence was apparent as his shaft leaped from its too tight confinement. He could feel her hand close around him and he could not stop himself from pushing forward, hard, against her touch.

“Oh, Julian!” she cried out, gasping, as she sat up, and pulled her hand away. He could see her face now, her eyes large as saucers, the question in them plain.

“My darling,” he said, but it came out more as a gasp. “I know what you fear, but please do not worry....” His voice froze in his throat as he heard the carriage door being opened behind him. How on earth had he not noticed the carriage coming to a halt?

“We’re here, Mr. Thorpe,” came the cheery voice of his driver. Julian moved not a muscle, calculating quickly that his back hid most of their activities from view, relieved that it was dark enough, at least, that they must appear to be a dark blur inside the carriage. “I’ll see to finding the ostler, sir,” the man said, hurriedly. Julian strongly suspected the fellow could see well enough to know there was some canoodling going on twixt bride and groom, but he also knew the man valued his position in the Thorpe household enough to let no hint of this knowledge cross his lips.

Julian heard his man’s footsteps fading in the gravel of the inn yard, and raised his head carefully. Elspeth, too, raised hers, eyes wide.

“Oh, Julian!” she began, then choked with a giggle. “Do you suppose he could see what we were doing?” she went on, nearly breathless, when she could speak again.

“I think he could see nothing in the dark, my heart,” Julian assured her, hoping desperately he spoke the truth. “My back was to him, and I was blocking his view, after all.” He fiddled with her neckline, pulling the silk up, and, with a lingering, regretful look, watched her breast disappear into its lacy confines. Ah, but there would be later.... He then had to fiddle, rather ignominiously, he thought, with the placket of his breeches, which somehow did not wish to fasten- He was further hampered by the fact that Elspeth was watching his efforts with some amusement.

At last the beastly thing buttoned up. He cast a quick eye over his beloved, relieved to see that she had got herself to looking every inch the lady, except for the naughty merriment that still danced in her eyes. Oh, she was a wanton, indeed, and that knowledge set his heart to racing all over again. But, alas, the game was up for now, so he stepped from the carriage.

He surveyed the inn yard, quickly, pleased to see no one about, at least anywhere close. Perhaps his man was sharper than Julian gave him credit for. He turned back to the open door of the carriage. “If we are presentable, I believe our supper awaits, Mrs. Thorpe,” he said, for all the world as if they had not been devouring one another but a moment ago.

“I believe I could use a bite at that, Mr. Thorpe,” replied his bride, her tone as proper as any duchess. He presented his now-gloved hand and she placed her gloved hand in it, stepping gracefully from the carriage.

“Now then,” he said, presenting his arm to her.

As she reached for him, her eyes, straying down, widened in alarm, “Julian, wait!” she choked out, and gestured frantically with her fingers toward his nether regions. He looked down and, to his horror, saw a good-sized bit of white shirttail protruding quite obviously from the front of his breeches placket.

“Oh, the devil,” he expostulated, turning back to face the carriage, and pushing frantically at the infernal stray piece, tucking it back where it belonged. He straightened himself, took a deep, calming breath, and turned back to Elspeth, who wasn’t helping matters in the least by being purple in the face, and snorting with an effort not to collapse in fits of giggles.

“Madam?” he said coolly, offering her his arm again.

“Sir,” she replied loftily. She took his arm, and they dared not so much as a glance at one another as they made their stately way into the inn.

Chapter Eighteen

It seemed to take forever to finish the lavish dinner presented to them by the innkeeper himself, in the small but nicely appointed private dining room. Elspeth found that she was ravenous, and for a short while feared that she could hardly get enough to eat as several fine dishes were set before the bride and bridegroom with a flourish. And then after the first few mouthfuls, she could hardly swallow a bite. Julian had attempted a little conversation here and there, and she gamely tried to be responsive, but for the life of her, she could hardly mind what he said. All she could think of was the large, tastefully appointed bedchamber that awaited them upstairs. And the large bed.

Oh, when would this supper end? And just when she thought the meal would, indeed, go on eternally, like something out of Norse mythology, the dishes were being cleared away and he was standing, holding out his hand to her. In a few moments, she would be upstairs ...alone...with Julian....

She was on fire. She was cold as ice. She was terrified down to the very toes of her slippers.

With one hand on her elbow and one resting lightly on her back, he helped her up the narrow wooden stairs. The inn was old, dating back, or so they said, to the great Tudor era. Good Queen Bess, herself, was said to have slept in this very room. That did not seem important now. She did find herself hoping it hadn’t been on the very same mattress.

Julian pushed the door open and helped her through. He seemed aware that she was nervous. He was very gentle with her. She saw that their bags had been brought up and a few things unpacked. Her silk nightgown lay out on the bed. Next to it was a fine lawn garment—Julian’s nightshirt, of course.

He stood behind her as she gazed about the room. She was aware that she was trembling slightly and was mightily annoyed with herself. The man must think her a perfect fool! She felt his hands touch her, very softly on her shoulders. She leaned back against him with a sigh. It felt so good to lean against his big, broad chest, to know he was there, and that he loved her, indeed.

“Are you still worried, my heart?” he whispered in her ear, following the question with a nibble and a light kiss on the back of her neck.

She shivered with delight. “I—I suppose I am, Julian,” she said simply. Gently, he turned her to him. He gazed deep into her eyes.

“Would you feel more comfortable if you could actually see, Elspeth?” he asked, the teasing obvious in his smile. “You can put on your spectacles, if you feel the need.”

“Oh, Julian,” she laughed. “I’m nervous enough without actually being able to see...things,” she finished, somewhat lamely. He gave a laugh, deep in his throat, almost like a growl, and pulled her toward him. Carefully, he leaned forward, and brought his lips to hers. It felt like a bolt of lightning, every time he kissed her. That she went mad, and lost all reason when he touched her was beyond doubt. She could feel him deepen the kiss, moving his lips against hers, as he gently ran his tongue against her soft mouth, pushing, just slightly. Her lips parted against his and she felt herself sigh. His tongue sought hers, and a thrill ran through her as she felt her own response, deep within. She shifted in his arms to push herself closer, so that they touched, up and down the length of their bodies, and a low moan escaped her.

At last he drew his head back from hers. He turned her in his arms, and with fingers as nimble as any lady’s maid, he undid her buttons, one by one, down the length of her back. He lifted the dress over her head and tossed it negligently over the back of a chair.

She stepped out of her slippers and now she stood wearing nothing but her chemise and silk stockings. He turned her around to face him, holding her away a bit, his eyes drinking their fill. With hands that trembled, she reached up and began untying the intricate twists of his neckcloth. He threw back his head with a smile and let her fingers do the work. It came loose at last, and with a mischievous grin, she pulled it free of his neck, and tossed it atop her dress on the chair. She reached up and divested him of his frock coat, then went to work on his waistcoat buttons. He stood very still, a small smile playing about his lips, and let her undress him.

The waistcoat went the way of the dress, the neckcloth, and the frock coat.

And then she looked down. “Julian,” she whispered breathlessly, unable—or was it unwilling—to take her eyes from the obvious bulge in his breeches.

With a growl, he swung her into his arms, and carried her over to the bed. He laid her down in the middle, then sat down next to her. His eyes, starting at the top of her head, took her all in, down to the tip of her toes. She could feel herself tingling all over, as if she could feel his very look.

“You are exquisite,” he whispered, as his hand reached around her waist. The light cotton chemise rode up under his fingers. He lay down alongside her and gathered her to him. Now they were touching, every inch along the length of their bodies, thin cotton and the kerseymere breeches all that lay between their flesh. He pulled her closer still, and dropped his mouth to hers for another searing kiss that left her gasping. He moved his hand to her thigh, rubbing it, teasing her sensitive skin. He lifted his mouth from hers, and her head fell back. She was breathing in rapid pants now, and so was he. He traced a line from her lips, down her neck. His lips inched down, down, his tongue tracing a path along the soft, milk-white skin of the swell of her breasts. His hand moved up, up along the side of her, coming to rest on her bosom. She gasped, and pressed closer, moaning. His hand found her nipple under the cotton of her chemise and he pulled the thin stuff away impatiently. His hand cupped her naked breast, and he moaned soft and low in her ear as she arched against him. Behind him, her hands moved down his back, then up again, rather frantically, as she sought something...something, but she did not know what.

He moved his hand again to her thigh, and then her calf, where he came to the edge of her chemise. He moved his hand on her silk stocking, rubbing her leg, then moving his hand up slowly. Just over the knee, the silk stocking came to an end at its lace garter. He did not stop. She could feel the soft, warm flesh of his chest pressed against her, and still, his hand traced upward on her thigh.