For All Eternity (40 page)

She nodded, a tear seeping from the corner of her eye as she did so. “They looked so lovely, and well, I know how you love fruit. I didn’t know that — ” a broken sob escaped her ” — that the pineapple would make you ill.”

“Sophie.” The word was uttered softly, edged with …

Tenderness? She sniffled. Blasted imagination.

She heard the scrape of his leather mules against the floor as he moved nearer, then he commanded, “Look at me, Sophie.” When she didn’t obey, he added, “Please?”

There was something in his voice as he whispered that last word, a queer huskiness, that made her do as he asked. The instant her tear-blurred gaze touched his face, he smiled and said, “Thank you for the tarts.”

Her eyes widened at his unexpected response, allowing several more tears to escape. “But — but, I don’t understand,” she choked out, wondering if he could be sicker than anyone realized. “Everyone said that the tarts made you terribly ill.”

“They did.”

“Then, why are you thanking me?” It was all she could do not to step forward and lay her hand on his cheek. He had to be fevered to be saying such things.

“I’m thanking you because you care enough about me to want to please me. That was the reason you gave me the tarts, wasn’t it?” The warmth was back in his eyes.

She nodded, not quite certain what to make of that warmth. Was it due to fever or fondness?

His smile broadened, again displaying his dimples. “Ah. And here I have been thinking that you no longer like me.”

“What?” Fever. It had to be fever. “Whatever would put such a notion in your head?”

“It could have something to do with the way you run the other direction every time you see me. I was beginning to think that I had either offended or repulsed you with my kisses.”

“What!” She practically shouted the word in her surprise. After the way she had responded to him, how could he possibly believe such a thing? “You most certainly didn’t offend me.”

His smile faltered a bit. “I see. Then, I repulsed you.” “Of course not.” Frowning, she moved toward him. “Are you quite sure that you have fully recovered from the pineapple?” She laid her hand against his scarred cheek. It felt cool.

“The pineapple, yes. Your kisses, no. Don’t you know what your kisses do to me?” he whispered, again capturing her gaze with his.

So intense, so naked with tender emotion were his eyes, that the fragile wall of her resistance crumbled and she softly confessed, “Yes. I do know, because they do the same thing to me. In truth, it frightens me how much I desire you.”

“My sweet, innocent, Sophie,” he murmured, pulling her into his embrace. “Desire is to be savored, not feared,”

“Perhaps, but I can’t help being a bit afraid. These feelings are so new … so strange,” she replied, resting her chin on his chest to continue staring into his expressive eyes.

Smiling tenderly, he lowered his face and rested his forehead against hers. Returning her adoring gaze in kind, he whispered, “Don’t you know that I would never hurt you?”

“Yes.” She more sighed than uttered the word.

“Then, trust me.”

“I do.” And it was true, she did trust him. He was a man of honor, a true gentleman. As such, he was no more likely to use a woman for a casual game of daisies than the pope. Emboldened by her faith, she stood on her tiptoes and coiled her arms around his neck, declaring, “I not only trust you, Nicholas Somerville, I love you.” With that, she pressed her mouth to his.

He groaned once, then returned her kiss, his lips first caressing, then nibbling, now molding and shaping hers. The resulting sensation made her tingle all over, and she moaned in fevered response.

He, too, moaned and pulled her nearer. Settling his mouth more firmly on hers, he slid his tongue between her lips and lightly traced their inner shape. Once, twice, then again and again, he traced them, delving deeper with every pass. At last his tongue slipped all the way into her mouth and twined with hers.

Sighing, she clung more tightly to his neck, her knees growing weak as she tasted him as she’d never before tasted a man. When she was certain that she would faint from the pleasure of it, he pulled his mouth from hers.

For a long moment he simply looked at her, his eyes dark and hungry, his breath harsh and ragged. Then he groaned and buried his face into her neck. Hoarsely whispering her name, he kissed her there as well.

“Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas!” she cried, grasping his head to urge him on.

And on he went, lower and lower, kissing over her collarbone and down the slope of her cleavage. She arched and moaned, thrilling to his every move. And still he dipped lower, stopping only when he came to the neckline of her gown. Whispering her name again, he outlined the shape of it with his tongue, tickling her sensitized flesh until her breasts tingled and ached.

Oh, how she wanted him to touch them, to strip away her clothes and fondle them. Maddened by her need, she pulled his arms from around her and guided his hands to caress them.

Sobbing his own need, Nicholas did as directed. God, but she was magnificent in her passion, so responsive, so honest and unbridled in her desire. Never had a woman aroused him as she did, never had one so tested his control. And yet — yet —

For all that he felt ready to burst from his urgency, he had no wish to take her quickly. No. He wanted to savor the taste and feel of her, to love her slowly and thoroughly. If it took him forever to do so, all the better. For what he felt for her went way beyond lust for her flesh, splendid though that flesh was. What he felt was deeper and truer, it was a feeling he knew would last for all eternity.

Sophie, however, wasn’t feeling nearly so patient. His every kiss, every caress fanned her excitement, making her throb in an unspeakable yet thrilling manner. Giddy from the new sensations and eager to experience more, she arched and rubbed against him, gasping when she felt his answering hardness.

Eyes wide, she leaned back to stare at that hardness. Alas, it was concealed by the folds of his gold velvet dressing gown. Curious beyond propriety, she reached down and gently poked the area.

His hips jerked, as if he sought to escape her touch, and a strangled groan issued from his throat. Bewildered by his response, she glanced at his face, searching for an explanation. His eyes were closed, and he looked exceedingly uncomfortable. Could it be that men didn’t like to be touched with anything but daisies?

Certain that that was the case, Sophie gazed about her. Surely one of the pavilions grew daisies? But which one? The forcing houses went on forever. Seeing no choice but to ask, she cleared her throat and murmured, “Er — Nicholas?”

He grunted.

Taking that grunt as a signal to proceed, she shyly inquired, “Where would I find — uh — -d-daisies?”

His eyes flew open, and he frowned. “Daisies? Whatever do you want with daisies?”

She felt herself blush. “You know — ah — unless you p-prefer feathers or custard?”

“Feathers? Custard?” His frown deepened. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Her face burning, she repeated what Lydia’s brother had told her about sexual acts. He looked more amazed with every passing second. When she had finished, she looked down at the floor and timidly inquired, “What sort of man are you, my lord?”

There was a long pause of silence, as if he considered her question, then he chuckled. “None of those sorts, though I must admit that licking custard from a cup between your breasts does sound rather interesting.” He chuckled again. “The sort of man I am, however, is the kind who likes to make up the game as he goes along. Naturally, I wish you to help me do so since you are playing it with me.”

It was her turn to frown. “I don’t understand.”

He tightened her in his embrace again and kissed her puckered forehead. “In other words, the goal of our game is to please each other and ourselves in whatever manner we choose.”

“Does that mean we can touch each other?”

“Most definitely.”

He saw her steal a downward peek. “Anywhere we wish?”

“Anywhere and everywhere,” he replied, grinning at her charming curiosity. “My body is yours to explore, and yours mine. And if either of us wants the other to do something to us, we have only to ask.”

She tipped her head back to meet his gaze, her face radiant in her delight. “Oh, I must say that I far prefer your game.”

“As do I,” he growled, reclaiming her mouth with his.

This time, however, it was she who kissed him, her lips and tongue greedy as she explored and tasted every inch of his mouth. Helplessly inflamed by her probings, he grasped her buttocks and ground his arousal against her belly. She cried out and thrust back in uninhibited response.

“I feel so — queer,” she whispered, dragging her lips from his. “I ache in the oddest places. I — I — ” She squirmed against him, making it perfectly clear where her discomfort lay. “I — oh!” She wriggled again. “Nicholas — please help me. I — I — “

“Shh. Hush, now, love,” he murmured, stopping her plea with a kiss. “Of course I shall help you, just as you shall help me. I feel exactly as you do, you know.”

She looked up at him, her beautiful gray eyes troubled. “I want to help you, truly I do, but I don’t know how.”

He smiled down at her, his hands going to her hair to release it from its pins. “Never fear, love. I shall show you how.”

“But — oh, Nicholas! You know what a mess I make of everything. What if I make matters worse instead of better? You have already suffered so from my stupidity.”

“You shan’t make a mess of it,” he assured her, entranced by the beauty of her hair as it tumbled down her back. This was the first time he’d seen it down, and it was every bit as glorious as he’d imagined. Gently finger combing its golden length, he added, “You also shan’t make matters worse. I promise.”

She nodded, though her eyes were still filled with uncertainty. “In that instance, w-what should I do next? I mean — ” she shook her head ” — what would feel good to you?”

He eyed her thoughtfully, then replied, “It would give me great pleasure to look at your body.”

She flushed a most delightful shade of rose. “You want me to — to — remove my — uh — clothes?”

“No. I want to remove them myself, but only if you wish me to do so.”

Her color deepened, and she bashfully looked away. “I — I wish it very much.”

His hands trembling with anticipation, Nicholas reached around to the back of her gown and rather clumsily unbuttoned the buttons. When the garment lay at her feet, he quickly divested her of her corset. Pausing only long enough to kiss her blushing cheek, he pulled her thin cambric chemise over her head. It was then, and only then, that he stepped back to look at her.

She stood before him naked from the waist up, her lower body covered by drawers and long pink stockings. Nicholas couldn’t help smiling at her drawers. Of course she wore them. Such garments were worn only by the most modish women, and even in her reduced circumstances she remained
au courant.

It wasn’t her drawers, however, that arrested his attention, interesting though they were with her woman’s triangle shadowed beneath them. No. What enthralled him was her form. She was exquisite, a visual feast of slender lines and lush curves.

Never in his life had he seen such breasts as hers, ripe yet firm and succulently round. And her waist! It was so small, flaring into such lusciously rounded hips, that he wondered at her need for a corset. If she were his, he’d toss them away so he would have the pleasure of feeling her delectable body every time he hugged her.

If she were his.
His heart raced at the thought of having such sweetness and beauty in his arms every day for the rest of his life. As his gaze moved over her, relishing the flawless texture and blushed cream hue of her skin, his thought firmed into resolution. He would have her … for all eternity if she would have him.

“Nicholas? Is something wrong?” Sophie inquired, her voice tinged with alarm. “Don’t you like my body.” “Like it?” he groaned. “I adore it. You, Miss Barrington, are the most beautiful creature on earth. It leaves me breathless just looking at you.”

She sighed her relief, making her breasts heave in a most tantalizing manner. Smiling timidly, she softly inquired, “Would you mind if I - I look at your body, too?” He smiled back and held out his arms. “Be my guest.” Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, she slowly unbuttoned his dressing gown. When she finished, he shrugged it off and tossed it onto the worktable behind them. He then turned back to her to allow her to continue.

Quivering as much from excitement as from apprehension, she reached up to unknot his neck cloth. The wicked thing refused to cooperate. No matter what she did, it became more and more tangled. Just when she was ready to scream her frustration, Nicholas removed it for her. “Damn complicated, these knots,” he declared, flinging it next to his dressing gown. “Took me years to master them.”

Sophie smiled at his obvious attempt to save her feelings. Her heart swelling with tenderness at his thoughtfulness, she unbuttoned his shirt. When he pulled it over his head to bare his torso, she could only stare in stunned awe.

He was perfect, more perfect than she’d ever imagined. So perfect, in fact, that she couldn’t resist touching his muscular chest to see if it were as hard as it looked.