River Of Fire (35 page)

She groaned wordlessly, writhing as he probed deeper and deeper into intimate heat. Before he could bring her to fulfillment, she reached out blindly, fumbling down his body until she found the hard, heated length of his shaft. Her hand curled around him and her thumb caressed the unbearably sensitive head.

Ravishing friction, intolerably sweet. He arched convulsively.
Oh, God, God, not yet
.

Mindless with urgency, he pulled away from her clasp and lifted his body over hers. His arms trembled as they braced his weight. He positioned himself, feeling her liquid readiness as his fingers prepared her for his entry. Then he drove into the blessed heat that would heal his madness.

There was an instant of sharp resistance, and he felt her stiffen. He damned himself for forgetting how small she was. His whole frame shaking with effort, he held still so she could adjust to him. He kissed her, using mouth and tongue to soothe away her tension.

She relaxed and her kiss became avid, as if she were trying to draw his essence into her. He began to move, first only fractions of an inch. Gradually he thrust harder, moving ever deeper and faster.

She twisted her head against the blanket, her breath coming in desperate gulps and her palms making circles on the small of his back. "Please, Kenneth, please…" she panted.

On the verge of shattering, he slid his hand between them until he touched her sensitive female nub. She gave a hoarse animal cry. Her hands curled into claws that bit into his buttocks, and her pelvis ground against him with frantic need.

Her climax triggered his own release. He groaned, driving into her again and again as harrowing pleasure flooded through him. A river of fire, more intense than anything he had ever known. And as the flames ebbed, he realized with wonder and despair that they had irrevocably seared his very soul.

The bed was narrow, but there was room enough when Kenneth shifted to his side and cradled her against him. Rebecca's limbs trembled as if she had been fractured and reassembled into a different being. She hid her face against his sweat-slicked shoulder, knowing she would never have enough of his closeness. Or, God help her, of the pleasure that had pierced her hard-won reserve before warmly enfolding her heart.

Outside it was raining. There was something wonderfully intimate about lying warm and safe in Kenneth's arms only a few feet below the drumming raindrops. She dozed a little, coming awake when he raised himself on one elbow and kissed her temple.

Her eyes opened and she studied his face, thinking that the craggy planes were more appealing than Apollo's perfect features could ever be.

Seeing that she was awake, he gently brushed the hair from her damp brow. "I should burn my painting. No oil or canvas can ever do justice to you."

"Don't you dare," she said with a lazy smile. "It's a fine painting. Just don't show it to anyone. Especially not my father." She shouldn't have said that, because a shadow darkened his eyes. Wanting to restore the tender mood, she continued, "There's a bottle of wine and two glasses on the tray I brought."

"An excellent idea." He levered himself up, then stopped, staring downward. She followed his gaze and saw that there was blood on both of them.

His head whipped up, and he stared at her with what was almost horror. "My God, you were a virgin. That's why it was difficult at first."

Her gaze slid away from him. "So I was."

He caught her chin and turned her face to him. His voice tight with barely controlled emotion, he said, "What about the elopement and the poet? All of your talk about being ruined?"

She wrenched her chin loose. "Ruination can be social without being physical. Frederick was willing to wait until we were legally married. By the time we reached Leeds, I knew that running away with him had been a terrible mistake. He wasn't in love with me, he was in love with the idea of himself as a dashing lover. And my future prospects, of course." She gave a shaky laugh. "The worst of it was discovering that he was
boring
. I realized I couldn't possibly spend the rest of my life with him, so I caught a mail coach back to London. But by then I had been gone for several nights, so my reputation was wrecked."

Kenneth took a deep breath. "Did your parents know that you hadn't lain with him?"

"It didn't seem relevant since I was ruined anyhow."

"Hell and damnation." He rested his forehead on her shoulder, his rough exhalation warming her breast. "You said you knew what you were doing, but you didn't. You
couldn't
."

For the space of a dozen heartbeats, there was silence. Then he lifted his head, his expression as grim as if he had just been condemned to the firing squad. "If it weren't for the fact that it would be a terrible mistake to marry, I would say that our betrothal has just gone from pretense to reality."

At a disadvantage flat on her back, she pushed up to a sitting position. "Having been raised among decadent artists, I have trouble taking virginity seriously. It really shouldn't matter."

He raised his brows expressively as he climbed from the bed and went to get the towel that hung on the small washstand. "Trust me, Rebecca. It matters."

After a brisk clean-up, he wrapped the blanket around her, casually pulled on his breeches and shirt, and poured them both wine. Then he sat beside her and leaned against the wall, his expression deeply troubled. "I deserve to be shot. I knew it was wrong to lie with you, and I did it anyhow."

She gave him an uncertain smile. "Since I almost assaulted you, it would have required an ungentlemanly amount of force to prevent it from happening."

He stared into his glass. "At my age, I should be able to control myself even when attacked by a ravishing female."

Ravishing? She liked the sound of that. "I'm glad you couldn't control yourself, and I'm vastly pleased with the results. I quite fancy myself as Lilith."

He smiled a little, but shook his head. "I'll grant that you aren't a naive girl just out of the schoolroom. But I was so mad with wanting you that I took no precautions against pregnancy. If you conceived…" His voice trailed off.

"That's unlikely after only one time, isn't it? And I shouldn't mind having a baby." She pulled the blanket more closely around her. "If my father couldn't bear the scandal, I can set up a household in some provincial city. Claim I'm a widow, perhaps. After all, I'm financially independent."

His hand clenched so hard around the goblet that she thought the stem might snap. "Do you seriously believe I would allow you to do that? It would be my child, too. It's one thing when circumstances force a mother to raise a child alone. It is quite another to have a baby for your own selfish reasons and deliberately deprive it of a father. If you have conceived, you are stuck with me for a husband." He took a deep breath. "And if that happens, God help us both."

She bit her lip and began finger-combing her hair to remove the snarls. She
had
been horribly selfish, thinking of her own wishes rather than the best interests of a child. She had also been criminally cavalier about Kenneth's feelings. Having seen the sensitivity and honor beneath his pirate exterior, she should have known he could not be casual about making love with her.

Had she unconsciously hoped to coerce him into marriage? No, she still had grave doubts about taking a mate. But she had been wild with desire, and that had made her reckless. She had forgotten that the consequences might bear more heavily on Kenneth than on her. Now his sense of duty might force him to marry a woman he didn't want. She would not have treated an enemy as badly as she had behaved with the best man she had ever known.

Wallowing in guilt wouldn't help. She tossed her hair back and said with measured calm, "I probably haven't conceived and we're worrying about nothing." She felt a knot form in her stomach. Knowing she shouldn't ask, she continued, "But if I did, why is the prospect of marrying me so dreadful? I know you don't love me the way you would a wife, but you seem to care a little. Is there someone else? If not, surely we would be able to rub along tolerably well. I swear I wouldn't plague you."

He swore under his breath and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. "It isn't that I don't care for you, Rebecca, or that there is anyone else," he said quietly. "The problem with marriage is…"

He broke off. After a long pause, he said carefully, "I have an obligation to fulfill. When I have done so, there is a very real chance that you will want no part of me." His voice became wry. "Except for my head on a platter, perhaps."

She had a brief, gruesome vision of a silver tray with his severed head on it. An artist's imagination was not always a good thing. "I don't understand."

He rested his cheek on her head. "I certainly hope not. It is not something I can discuss."

Under her ear she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. She wondered what his mysterious obligation entailed. Probably it was about the dreadful financial problems he had inherited. "Whatever happens, the fault is not yours. It was I who instigated what happened between us," she said softly. "And though it may have been wicked of me, I really can't be sorry."

"Neither can I, Ginger," he said with a rueful sigh. "Neither can I."

Rebecca found that it was easy to sin with a man who was living under the same roof—particularly in a household of mad artists who kept strange hours. No one noticed a thing.

Of course she and Kenneth knew, and tension thrummed between them the next morning. She was torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to rip his clothes off again.

It was hard to tell what Kenneth thought, but he was definitely not relaxed in her presence. Knowing that the intimacy of a sitting would be misery, she said brightly that for the next few days she would be busy with the background and clothing of the corsair picture, so he would not be needed for posing. He accepted that with visible relief.

Then, deciding that knowledge was better late than never, she invited Lavinia up to her studio for tea and a woman-to-woman talk. Specifically, she asked how to prevent conception.

Accepting the request as natural from a female on the verge of marriage, Lavinia matter-of-factly described several methods. She even promised to send over pieces of sponge suitable for soaking with vinegar and inserting. ("Not that I don't have the highest regard for your intended husband, darling, but when men become excited they sometimes forget to leave before they come. Much better for a woman to manage matters herself.")