Kathryn Smith (32 page)

Releasing her breast, Brave rose up on his knees. As his fingers fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat, his gaze feasted on the sight of her beneath him. Her eyes were dark, her skin flushed a pale petal pink—the color of arousal, and one he knew perfectly. Her lips and nipples were a darker shade of rose, one he found as entrancing as the shade of her flesh. And farther down her body was an even softer pink, peeking out from between the downy lips of her sex. And that pink, Brave could tell anyone, was the exact color of heaven.

His waistcoat flew across the room. Grabbing the hem of
his shirt, he hauled it upward, almost getting tangled in the fabric when Rachel’s curious fingers caressed the length of him through his falls. He pulsated against her hand.

“Shall I remove those as well?” he asked, as his shirt flew off to join his waistcoat.

Rachel nodded, smiling coyly. “Yes. Take them off.”

He did, watching her as she watched as he slid the buckskin and linen drawers down over his hips and down to his thighs. His arousal sprang free, hard and anxious, the head dewy with anticipation. Rachel’s eyes glittered at the sight of it.

“It will feel different this time, won’t it?”

Kicking the trousers and his stockings onto the floor, Brave leaned over her. “It will. There won’t be any discomfort this time. Only pleasure.” To emphasize his point, he slid a finger down her abdomen, to the golden curls between her thighs. Her legs parted, and he slid a finger inside her, gasping as her wet heat closed around him. She gasped too.

“Like this.” He began moving his finger in and out of her. “Only better.”

Bending down, he planted soft kisses along her throat and breast before moving down. He kissed her ribs, and the soft flesh of her belly, gently rolling the tip of his tongue along the hollow of her navel. He nuzzled the soft honey-colored curls between her thighs.

He withdrew his finger from her and, lifting his head, made certain she was watching when he raised it to his mouth. The scent of her heated his blood to a hot rush of sensation. She tasted delicate and musky, all salty sweetness.

Rachel’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

“Tasting you,” he replied, sliding down between her legs. “And now I’m going to taste you some more.”

She tensed when his fingers parted her flesh. Placing his mouth against her warm wetness, Brave teased the sensitive bud hidden there with the tip of his tongue, drawing a sharp gasp from her and making her arch her hips against him.

Slowly, he stroked her with his tongue, tasting her, teasing her. Rachel’s heels dug into the mattress, lifting her hips even higher, moving them in rhythm with his attentions. She made a low, keening sound deep in her throat, and the hands that she tangled in his hair pressed him deeper into her.

Brave was merciless. His hands slid under her buttocks, holding her in position as he plunged his face between her legs. His senses were filled with her and the urge to feel her shudder around him. To taste her as she shivered in completion was the only thing that existed for him. Faster and harder he stroked her, until her thighs clamped down hard on his shoulders, and her cries rang out above him.

Breathing heavily, he raised himself above her, teasing her wetness with the head of his shaft. She gasped, pressing her head back against the cushions. She tried to arch her hips, urging him to enter her, but he held still, watching as the last shiver shook her.

Slowly, he pushed against the entrance to her body. Inch by inch, he ground his teeth and slid into her, teasing them both with ever-languid pushes. He wanted to thrust his hips hard, drive himself into her and find release from the torrent of emotions spiraling through him. The moans escaping her throat were sharp, keening sounds, almost as if she were in pain.

“Do you want this?” He pushed deeper, watching pleasure play across her features.

“Yes.” She squirmed against him, pushing up even as he held back. “Do it, Brave. Do it now!”

He needed no further encouragement. Colors spun behind his eyes as he drove himself into her, and he had to stop and gather his control. She was so tight around him, so hot and wet and like nothing he’d ever felt before.

Slowly, he moved within her. He wanted to take his time, wanted to make her come again. Every muscle in his body was rigid as he fought to maintain control. God, he wanted this to last forever.

She raised her hips against him, flexing her internal muscles so that they clenched hard around him. Brave gasped, tearing his mouth away from her breast and arching his spine as spasms of pleasure pooled in his groin. He wasn’t going to last, not like this.

He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him so that their positions were reversed. She sat astride him, her body firmly wrapped around his. He gripped her hips and held her there. The sensation was maddening, intoxicating, and threatened to send him over the edge at any second. As the urgency subsided, he released his grip and allowed her to set the rhythm.

Brave’s fingers fisted in the sheets, pulling so tightly he could feel the tendons in his arms tremble as he raised his hips clean off the bed to bury himself deeper within her. Her movements quickened, became more and more urgent as she rode him. Her breathing was harsh, her face intent as she drove her body down on his.

She shuddered, crying out as she fell forward. The pressure in Brave’s abdomen reached its peak and maintained it for only seconds before pitching him over the edge. He could not silence the shout of gratification that pushed its way past his lips any more than he could stop the incredible spasms that shook his entire body.

Rachel slid down to his side. He closed his arms around her with what little energy he had left, and holding her against him, pressed his lips against her forehead.

“Feel free to ask for my forgiveness anytime,” she whispered, her breath hot and shallow against his neck.

Laughing, Brave met her heavy-lidded gaze. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Is it true?”

Closing the door behind her, Rachel crossed the room to her mother’s bed, perching herself in her usual spot. Her
mother was sitting up, supported by her ever-present mountain of pillows. Her ribs still gave her discomfort, but her bruises had begun to yellow, and the swelling was almost completely gone. Her anxious expression was all too familiar.

“He’s not dead,” Rachel replied. “But from what Brave told me, it doesn’t sound good.”

Her mother drew a shaky breath. “Is it wrong of me to be so hopeful?”

“Hopeful that he’ll die, you mean?” At her mother’s hesitant nod, she continued, “I don’t think so. I’d say it’s to be expected given all he put you through. I hope he dies, too.”

“You shouldn’t say such things out loud,” Marion admonished, her gaze darting toward the ceiling.

Rachel chuckled. “Mama, God can hear me think it just as well as he can hear me say it. I don’t think he’ll blame either one of us for wishing for it.”

Dragging her gaze downward, her mother smiled sheepishly. “I suppose not.” Her smile faded into an expression of concern. “How did your discussion with Braven go?”

She plucked at a nub on the quilt, trying to hide the blush that flooded her cheeks. “It went well.”

“You never did tell me what happened to make you both so upset.”

This time Rachel couldn’t hide the hot flush that crept up her neck. Sometimes she believed her mother could read her thoughts just as easily as God could.

“Let’s just say Brave questioned my motives for doing something. He now knows he was mistaken.” Lord, even saying it so cryptically, the meaning sounded perfectly clear to Rachel!

“Remind me to thank Lord Braven for all the kindness he’s shown us.”

The irony of her mother’s words brought a smile to
Rachel’s lips. “I’m sure he knows how thankful we are.” But did he know how loved he was?

Marion reached up and tentatively placed her fingers against her bruised cheek. “No, I’m not sure that he can.”

Rachel’s heart rolled over in her chest. She reached out and seized her mother’s other hand in both of hers. “I’m so sorry this happened, Mama. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to stop it, to help you. It will be all over soon, I promise. Soon you won’t ever have to fear for your safety again. You won’t ever have to fear Sir Henry again. I’ll make sure of it.”

“You have nothing to feel sorry for, darling.”

The old guilt surfaced with a vengeance. “Yes, I do.”

Her mother smiled sympathetically. “You don’t think I blame anyone but myself for my marriage to Sir Henry, do you?”

Rachel’s head snapped up. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“I’d heard stories about him, but I foolishly believed that he’d changed. I was tired of going hungry and relying on charity, and when he proposed, I saw it as a chance for a better life for both of us. I could have gone into service somewhere, but I wanted a better life than that for you.” Marion laughed humorlessly. “And what a life it was, hmm?”

“It wasn’t your fault, Mama.”

“No? Whose was it then? Yours?”

Rachel averted her gaze.

“Rachel, I did not marry Sir Henry because of you. I married him because of me, because I didn’t want to get calluses on my hands, because I didn’t want you to get calluses on yours. I was afraid to be alone and scared, and so I jumped at Sir Henry’s proposal because he offered to take care of us and flattered me. If I hadn’t been so scared and still grieving for your father, I would have had more sense, but I didn’t.”

Looking up, Rachel couldn’t believe her ears. “You didn’t marry him just to put a roof over my head?”

Her mother chuckled. “That was certainly part of it, but it wasn’t all for you, no.”

Rachel couldn’t believe how much of an idiot she’d been. How self-absorbed. She automatically assumed everything was about her, either for her or against her.

Marion squeezed her hand. “Dearest, I know you married Braven to help me, but he’s a good man, a good man who will treat you as you deserve. I hope you find the happiness you deserve with him.”

Rachel didn’t tell her mother that Brave already made her happy. She wasn’t sure how, but he did. He made her feel safe and secure, something she hadn’t felt since she was a child. He made her want to make him smile again. And when he did laugh or smile, it was as though the full radiance of the sun was released upon her. All she could do was bask in his joy.

He was everything she’d ever wanted—someone who’d look after her and protect her. She’d been the one doing the protecting since she was a young girl. It would be nice to have someone to run to when she got scared instead of trying to find a way out herself. Not that she wanted someone to hide behind, but someone to lean on would be nice.

Could she take the chance and offer him not only her body but her heart as well? Brave could give her the kind of life she’d only read about in romances and fairy tales. He could give her a happily ever after. He could give her those fat babies. She already knew he gave wonderful foot rubs.

But could he give her love? Was there room in his heart for another when Miranda Rexley still lived there?

And what of her? Could she give her heart to him while so much of her attention was focused on getting her mother a divorce? It had been her mission for so long she wasn’t sure she knew how to pursue anything else, let alone the husband she never thought to love.

She couldn’t give their relationship the attention it needed until she knew what condition Sir Henry was in. If he was going to recover, they would need to take extra precautions where protecting her mother was concerned, and that might mean leaving Wyck’s End—and Brave—for a while.

The fact that Rachel couldn’t imagine being safe anywhere else spoke volumes.

She slipped off the bed, careful not to jostle her mother in the process. “Mama, I have to go.”

Her mother eyed her warily. After twenty-four years, Marion Westhaver knew when her daughter was up to something. “You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you?”

Rachel frowned. “Like what?”

“Like burn down Tullywood or something.”

Laughing, Rachel shook her head. “Nothing that extreme, Mama. I promise.” She kept her smile bright. “I just have someone to go see.”

Sir Henry didn’t look so intimidating when he was unconscious. In fact, he looked almost harmless. Perhaps that was how her mother had first seen him as well—harmless.

“Will he live?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder to where Dr. Phelps stood.

The doctor came up beside her. “I honestly don’t know. I suspect he sustained internal injuries during the fall. Whether or not he recovers depends on the extent of those injuries.”

Rachel stared at the man in the bed, surprised at just how little she felt. She always thought she’d be happy or relieved to hear that her stepfather might die, but she felt nothing except the slightest bit of irony. How convenient would Sir Henry’s death be? She and her mother would be free to do whatever they wanted.

And if he lived, there was still the matter of his coming to Wyck’s End with a rifle. Given his earlier altercation with Brave, there was every chance he had been on his way to kill
them all. Surely the law would have to take that into consideration and grant her mother a divorce. Perhaps Sir Henry would be jailed for making such a threat against a peer of the realm.

The worst thing that could happen was that Sir Henry would win. And if that happened, Rachel was prepared to take her mother someplace Sir Henry would never find her.

But that would involve leaving Brave, and Rachel didn’t even want to think about that. She couldn’t imagine never feeling the touch of his hands or lips again. Couldn’t bear to think a time might come when she would never have him inside her.

Could she leave him if it came to that?

She knew exactly what her first instinct would be, but thankfully if it ever came to that, she would have time to think things through. No more rash decisions; they’d gotten her into enough trouble already.

“Do you think I could have a moment alone with him?” she asked, not taking her gaze from the corpulent form.