How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (16 page)

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

I
t was nearly midnight by the time Francis arrived at his home in Berkeley Square. Stepping inside, he was faintly surprised by the dim glow of light coming from his study down the hall. Perhaps Jonathan was working late, or merely enjoying a quiet glass of port before returning home. He wouldn’t mind a glass himself, he thought, as he pulled off his gloves, laid them inside his hat, and placed the hat on a side table for Parker to tend to later. Unbuttoning his coat as he went, he made his way toward his study, managing to unfasten the last button as he reached the open doorway.

With a deep breath, he wandered inside, relieved to be back in the warm evening glow of his favorite room in the house. Looking about, he immediately caught his breath as he regarded the slight figure neatly curled up in one of the leather chairs.

There, fast asleep, her lips slightly parted in slumber, lay Emily. She had been right about the chair being too big for her, he thought with a smile as he watched her nestled on the seat, her feet tucked up beneath her. At the foot of the chair lay a book. Francis picked it up to find that he was holding a brand new copy of
Sense and Sensibility
by a certain Jane Austen. Curious of its content, he scanned the back of the dust jacket, only to conclude that it must belong to Emily. Ever the romantic, he thought musingly, as he laid the book carefully on the table next to her chair.

He stood for another moment, watching her rest, his eyes drawn hypnotically toward the rise and fall of her breasts as they strained against her bodice, swelling lusciously at the neckline. His stomach tightened as a wave of heat rushed over him, settling deep within his loins. His urge to reach out and touch her was overwhelming, yet somehow he managed to avert his gaze. One touch would never sate his appetite—of that he was certain. Instead, he proceeded to turn off the lights. Then, with a conscious effort to think of anything other than Emily’s warm and pliable body, he stooped to gather her up in his arms.

Fresh quivers ran down his spine as her scent, a soft fragrance of roses in bloom, enveloped him. He cursed beneath his breath at his apparent lack of self-control. What was he thinking, getting this close to her? She shifted slightly in her sleep, her head tilting backward in a pose that beckoned for him to brush his lips against the delicate curve of her neck. With an inward groan, he tightened his hold on her for fear that he might otherwise drop her right there on the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on each of the steps he took as he approached her bedroom.

Fumbling with the door handle as he juggled her in his arms, he finally managed to open the door and enter the room, kicking the door shut with the heel of his foot. He then crossed the room to her bed and gently settled her on top of the golden brocade bedspread.

Turning on the light next to her bed, he straightened himself to look at her, wondering if he ought to cover her with something. His own body came to mind, but he quickly trashed that thought with a mounting degree of annoyance. He was, after all, a gentleman—he tried to remind himself.

Clenching his fists, he turned away from temptation, intent on fleeing the room before he happened to change his mind.

“Francis?” Her voice was music to his hears. Oh how he’d missed it for the past few days. He ought to ignore it, to pretend he hadn’t heard her and just leave, but his feet were somehow glued to the floor.

“You fell asleep in the study, Emily,” he told her in a soft whisper as he turned his head to look at her. She had turned onto her side, partly risen as she rested on one of her elbows, her eyes still drowsy from slumber. His eyes roamed over her. Her hair was tousled, her bodice askew, yet he’d never thought she looked more beautiful.

As she moved slightly on the bed, he watched in silent disbelief as one of her breasts rose over the neckline, showing off a pink nipple, so ripe that Francis’s mouth went dry and his pulse quickened to a deadly pace. “I should go,” he told her in a hoarse voice, wishing he had the power to look away from her inviting body. She wasn’t even aware of what she’d just displayed for him as she lay there, the hint of a pleasant dream still upon her face.

“I was hoping perhaps we could talk,” she told him as she got up and came toward him.

“Emily,” he murmured as he put up his hands to stop her from coming any closer. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She paused in mid-stride, a pensive look upon her face as she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. Francis felt the all-too-familiar throbbing as his manhood strained against the seam of his breaches. Never in his life had he been so aroused from just looking at a woman. . . . Hell, she wasn’t even naked!

“Francis? Are you all right?” she asked. “You look unwell or as if you’re somehow in pain.” She looked genuinely troubled. “Is there anything that I can do for you?”

Francis groaned. Her questions were so innocent. If only she knew that she was the cause of his torment.
Yes
, he thought,
there is something you can do for me—throw yourself on your back and let me explore you; let me ravish you with kisses and taste every inch of your divine body
.

Instead he just stood there, not knowing what to say or what to do. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He
knew
what to do, what he ought to do, but he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to leave, to turn around and walk away. He wanted Emily and he wanted her to tell him that she wanted him too.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she told him suddenly, without warning.

“Oh?” His voice was curious, his eyes dark and searching.

She thought she detected that same simmering heat that she’d seen the other day in the study when he’d kissed her, but she wasn’t sure. She’d been thinking about nothing but that kiss ever since he’d gone away. How she longed to be kissed like that again, somewhere where they would not be so easily interrupted. Somewhere like right here, right now.

She knew that she ought to be ashamed to think such things; it just wasn’t proper for a lady to have such impure thoughts. And her thoughts about Francis were
very
impure. What made it feel less indecent, however, was that she was becoming increasingly certain that he’d been having the same impure thoughts about her—and nothing excited her more.

But how would she broach such a delicate subject? Perhaps if she didn’t look at him, talking about it would be easier. She turned away from him, her hand resting against the foot of the bed. “I was wondering why you went away,” she said.

Silence filled the room and for a moment she thought he might not tell her, but then he did. “There was a personal matter that I needed to attend to. It’s a rather delicate situation, really. I’d prefer it if we didn’t discuss it right now—perhaps tomorrow, or the day after that. In fact, there’s a lot that I need to tell you, Emily. I’ve kept it all inside for years, and I believe it’s time that I spoke to somebody about it. And truth be told, there’s nobody I’d rather share it with than you.”

On his ride back to town, he had realized that the only person to whom he wished to divulge his secrets was Emily. Emily, the one person who had always urged him to tell her what was on his mind—at least in the beginning, before she grew tired of being constantly rebuffed. But there was a time and a place for everything, and this was most definitely not the time or the place for him to bare his heart to her.

“So it had nothing to do with the kiss?” Her voice was so low that he had to strain to hear her.

“Of course not,” he heard himself saying. “Why would you think that?”

“Why indeed?” she sighed, the hint of mockery barely present in her voice. “Because you left the very next morning, without any explanation or even a goodbye. What was I to think?”

“Like I said, I left because there was a personal matter that needed my attention. It had nothing to do with you, or the kiss.”

“Did you like it then?” She gasped as soon as the question left her lips, horrified at her own candor.

“If you’re referring to the kiss, then yes, I did, Emily. I liked the kiss a great deal.” He paused, watching her with great intensity. He could almost feel the heat that was flushing her face, for it was surely the same as what filled his own.

And then she turned to face him and he looked into her eyes, the hunger there mirroring his own. “Would you like to kiss me again?” she murmured.

God, yes! With those words, he knew that all was lost. He simply did not have the will power to say no. Not when she was standing right there in front of him—so tempting, so seductive—asking him to kiss her.

He closed the distance between them in three paces. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he told her as he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his lips to hers.

His lips were soft and tender as they pressed against her. Tightening his grip about her waist, he pulled her closer as he nibbled on her lower lip, reveling in the moistness of it. A small sigh escaped her lips as he glided his tongue across them. She trembled, like a leaf rustling in the wind, as sparks ignited from her head down to her toes.

Her need was as desperate as his own, he realized with great satisfaction as he slipped his tongue inside the warmth of her mouth. And as their tongues tangled rapturously together, his hand came up to rest upon her breast. With skillful mastery, he kneaded that soft, round, pliable mound, then pushed it up to free it from the restraints of her bodice.

Breaking the kiss, he stepped back to look at her, his eyes heavy with a burning desire that excited Emily to her very core. Seeing the effect she had on him fueled her own hunger. She wanted to partake of everything he had to offer her, unleash the passion that she felt building inside her, and let him take her to places she’d never even dreamed existed.

Raising his other hand, he tugged at her dress to watch the other breast emerge. A look of devilish content settled upon his face. His lips curled upward in a wayward smile. “So beautiful,” he murmured in a husky undertone as he let his fingers sweep across them. With expert ease, he teased her nipples, watching in reverence as they responded to his touch, perking into tight crimson buds.

Seizing her head with his hands, he drew her hastily toward him, his kiss transformed to one of fierce desire as he plunged his tongue inside her.

Matching his ardor, her arms flew about his neck, clutching onto him as though her life depended on it. Stars shone behind her closed eyelids while her body exploded in bursts of sensuality. Never in her life had she thought she’d feel so revered—it was nothing short of sensational.

Breaking the kiss once more, Francis trailed kisses down her neck—so soft, so sweet. “Beautiful—sweet—Emily,” he murmured between kisses.

She ran her hands through his thick dark hair as he lowered his head to her right breast, then gasped as he licked her nipple with the tip of his tongue, coaxing it to grow harder still. His own manhood grew taut as it strained against his breeches, desperate to find comfort within the warmth of her body.

A small voice whispered to him from somewhere far, far away. He wanted nothing more than to ignore it, to tell himself that it was insignificant—yet he could not, would not. He stepped away, his breathing coming hard and ragged as he looked at her like a man who’d crossed the desert and finally found the water he’d been so desperately seeking. She looked equally affected, her eyes beseeching him to continue.

“Emily,” he sighed. “If I don’t stop now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”

He saw the immediate look of disappointment upon her face. She wasn’t just a dillydally, however. She was his friend, first and foremost, and as such he had to do right by her. “You . . . you don’t want me after all?” she asked carefully. She suddenly appeared to be on the verge of tears.

“Emily,” he said, his voice full of incredulity. “How can you possibly think that I don’t want you after what we just shared?” Her face was flushed as she focused on the pattern of the carpet. “Look at me,” he beckoned. “Just look at me to see how much I truly want you.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. Giving her a quick downward glance, she followed his line of sight only to find herself staring at the massive bulge at his crotch. “Oh my . . .” she gasped, her face instantly reddening.

“Indeed,” he grinned, though his eyes were deadly serious. “Emily, I cannot do this to you, not like this. It would be terribly wrong of me to claim your innocence. As difficult as it is for me to do, I must not take what rightfully belongs to the man you will one day marry. You would be ruined, Emily, and your chances for a perfect match along with it. Do you understand?” He did not tell her that he intended to be the man she married—nevertheless, it was suddenly very important to him that he did everything according to the book. He sensed that, even though she might not realize it now, it would be important to her that she wasn’t deflowered before speaking her vows.

She nodded, then looked at him with sheer determination. “I know we’ve had our differences, Francis, though I like to think that we’re beginning to move past them. Whatever happens, I want you to know that nobody has ever had this effect on me, not even Adrian. With you, it’s as if my soul is on fire.” She paused for a moment, an inward struggle evident in her features, as if she knew not whether she ought to continue. “Though I lack the experience, I’m not as naïve as you might think when it comes to the art of lovemaking.”