Say You Love Me (16 page)

From the moment he entered the room and saw her in that skimpy ensemble, he became thick and turgid. He tried to think of other things, but nothing helped. He wanted her too much, that was the problem. And he wasn’t even sure why.

He’d bedded other women more beautiful. But there was just something about Kelsey, the feigned innocence perhaps, those silly, ridiculous blushes that she could summon at whim, maybe the fact that he’d bought her…he didn’t know, but he wanted to jump on her and savor her simultaneously, which of course was impossible.

It was a hard choice to make, and didn’t get any easier when he joined her on the bed and touched her again. Silken smooth she was, and soft in all the right places. And he was nearly undone when he released her shoulder ties and slowly peeled down the blue silk to reveal her breasts, which puckered immediately under his hot gaze. Again, he felt the urge to bury himself in her then and there, and he simply couldn’t think of anything to cool his
ardor short of a cold bath, which would be ridiculous under the circumstances.

He should have had more wine with dinner. No, she should have had more, then she might not mind if he simply pounced on her. Maybe she wouldn’t mind anyway? Damnit,
he
minded. He wasn’t some untried, wet-behind-the-ears youth with no control to speak of. He would take his time, even if it killed him.

He began kissing her again, deliberately, concentrating. But he couldn’t keep his hands from wandering. Her breasts were plump and firm, quite the handful. It wasn’t long before his mouth worked its way there, and her gasp of pleasure was the sweetest music.

He was touching her all over. Kelsey had to repeatedly remind herself that he had that right. And his mouth, the things it was making her feel. She was afraid her fever was coming back.

His hand tried to part her legs. She held them tightly closed. He chuckled, just before he kissed her again, so passionately that she quickly forgot about her legs—and his hand slipped between them. She nearly arched off the bed. Never could she have imagined anything so shocking—and so wildly thrilling—as what he was doing with his fingers.

All thoughts gave way to sensation that was so intensely pleasant that the ache steadily building inside her wasn’t noticed until it fully caught up with her, overwhelming her. She moaned deep in her throat. She arched toward him. She pulled at him. She didn’t understand.

And all semblance of control deserted Derek in that moment. He moved between her legs. He lifted them. And in the next second, he was deep inside her, his penetration so swift that there was no time to stop for any barriers. He vaguely noted there had been one, but what it was didn’t quite register, not when he was surrounded by such tightness, such exquisite heat, such primitive pleasure. It was so sweet he nearly came with that single thrust, but a moot point, since the next thrust sent him over the edge.

When clear thought managed to work its way back into his pleasure-dazed mind, Derek sighed. Had he thought he’d gotten far beyond his first pathetically eager experiences of lovemaking as a lad, when he’d been concerned only with his own pleasure and had no control whatsoever over his responses? He gave himself a mental snort. A fine demonstration he’d given of control this night.

He didn’t even know if the dear girl had come to her own pleasure, he had been so consumed with his, but it was considered quite tactless to ask. Of course, if she hadn’t, he was more than game to rectify that. In fact, the very thought hardened him to fullness again. Amazing. But then she did have an incredibly tight sheath gripping him…

“Can you—move to the side—please?”

His weight. What a dolt, lying there savoring his pleasure while he was crushing the poor girl. He leaned up to apologize, taking his weight from her chest, if not the rest of her,
but the words didn’t make it past the shock of seeing her tears, her woebegone expression, and the realization that he
had
come upon a barrier that had prevented full access. It had been there less than a second, but it had been there.

“Good God, you
were
a virgin!” he blurted out.

Her blush was immediate. “I believe that was mentioned at the auction.”

He stared at her incredulously. “My dear girl, nobody bloody well believed that. Purveyors of flesh are notorious liars, after all. And besides, you were sold in a whorehouse. What in the bloody hell would a virgin be doing in a whorehouse?”

“Obviously being sold outright, and as stipulated,” she said quite stiffly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t have Lonny rid me of my virginity before the sale. I wasn’t aware that it would be a liability.”

“Don’t be absurd,” he replied gruffly. “It’s just a—surprise—that needs a bit of adjusting to.”

A bit? All those blushes had been real, not contrived. All those innocent looks quite appropriate.

A virgin, and his first, if he didn’t count the kitchen maid at Haverston who had gone on to spread her favors with every footman in the house. No wonder Ashford had wanted her so much and had been so furious when he didn’t get her—more blood to add to his sick pleasures.

A virgin. And the full implication suddenly hit him with a wave of possessiveness the likes of which he’d never felt before. He was her first lover, the only man to have touched her, and not only that, he
owned
her. She belonged to him.

He smiled at her suddenly, brilliantly. “There, you see? Already adjusted.” He was hard and aching to have her again, but he carefully, slowly eased out of her instead. “I’ve made quite a muck of it, your first time. Acted like an untried youth m’self, wanting you so much, but that can only have made it worse for you. When you’ve recovered, I’ll see to giving you the same pleasure that you gave me. But just now, we’ll see to your wounds.”

Before she could protest, he was lifting her in his arms again and carrying her into the bathroom. He set her down there and wrapped a large towel around her while he drew her bathwater and adjusted it, adding salts and suds and perfumes as the tub filled. It was all she could do to keep her eyes off him, because he hadn’t covered himself, was still completely and unself-consciously naked.

When he moved to put her in the water, she held up a hand. “I can manage from here—”

“Nonsense.” And he flicked the towel aside and lifted her again, lowering her carefully into the steaming tub. “I’ve gotten in the habit of bathing you, after all, and it’s rather a nice habit to get into.”

Kneeling there at the side of the tub, he washed her,
everywhere
. Her skin remained
pink the entire time, and not from the steamy heat. And then he was lifting her out again, drying her, and carrying her back to the bed, where he put her under the covers this time and, joining her there, drew her snugly into his arms.

She was able to relax then, realizing that there would be no more pain—or pleasure—that night. Even their nakedness didn’t disturb her, merely added to the warmth that was putting her to sleep.

She’d almost nodded off when she heard, “Thank you, Kelsey Langton, for gifting me with your virginity.”

She didn’t point out that she’d had little choice in the matter. And it hadn’t been as bad as it could have been with anyone else. There had even been a great deal of pleasure—before the pain.

So in the same formal tone, though with a half yawn, she replied, “You’re quite welcome, Derek Malory.”

She didn’t see his smile, though she felt him pull her just a tad closer. Her hand drifted up to rest on his chest, hesitantly at first, then without worry. She
could
touch him now, whenever she liked. After this night, she had that right—just as he had the right to touch her—and amazingly, she was pleased by it.

Imagine that.

20

Kelsey awoke the next morning alone, Derek having
left sometime in the middle of the night. He was quite thoughtful, sparing her the embarrassment of facing him bright and early, still in bed, still naked. She wondered if that was going to be his habit. Quite possibly, to be discreet. It was a nice neighborhood, after all, that he’d put her in. And he did seem to be concerned with discretion.

Of course, he could be married, and that was why he wanted secrecy. What a horrid thought. But it was possible, and even something she’d been advised to expect. She’d have to ask him. She’d rather know, even if it were so, than constantly wonder.

She found Derek’s note on the pillow next to her. His scent was still there too, which made her smile for some reason. The note informed her that he’d be picking her up that afternoon for shopping and then dinner. She smiled again. That actually sounded like fun. She had always enjoyed shopping, at any rate. As long as he didn’t intend buying her gaudy,
mistresslike clothes. She sighed. That was probably exactly his intention. But if she must wear them, then she must.

It was amazing, the burden that had been lifted from her now that she was no longer a virgin. She might regret that fact, but there was no changing it. She was well and truly a mistress. No more agonizing, no more fear of the unknown. The pain was behind her. It hadn’t been pleasant. But there was pleasure to look forward to. She had experienced some of it, had been promised more. And Derek was not only handsome but so very considerate of her. What more could she ask for under the circumstances?

“Well, don’t you look full of it,” Nicholas Eden remarked as he came into his dining room to find Derek there already, just as used to be the case so often before he’d married.

The grin that Derek had been wearing as he sat there absently moving food around on his plate altered slightly. “Full of what? Only just sat down to eat.”

Nicholas chuckled. “Wasn’t referring to food, dear boy, but satisfaction. It’s fairly oozing out of you. You remind me of a randy rooster that’s finally located the henhouse. That good, was she?”

It wasn’t often that Derek blushed, but this was one of those times. And that was unusual, because ribbing about his peccadilloes from his friends tended to amuse rather than embarrass him. It was possibly because he’d
sworn off mistresses and Nicholas knew that, yet he was about to admit he had a new one.

He’d had a note yesterday from Nicholas when he returned home for a change of clothes. The note said that Nicholas and the wife were staying in town for the week for some shopping and visiting, which really meant that Reggie wanted to do some shopping and visiting and old Nick had been wheedled into keeping her company. These days, Derek didn’t often get out to Silverley, which was Nick’s country estate where he and Reggie tended to hibernate, at least during the hectic London social seasons. And he’d been too absentminded at Amy and Warren’s wedding, thinking about excuses to leave early so he could see Kelsey again, to talk much with his friend.

Strangest thing was, he wanted to discuss Kelsey with Nick, and yet he didn’t want to.

They were much alike, Nicholas a few years older, a tad taller, his hair a bit darker, though streaked with gold, and his eyes more amber than brown. Nick was a viscount. Derek was too, for that matter, a title that had come with one of the estates turned over to him, though one day he would also become the fourth Marquis of Haverston.

They were also both illegitimate, which was why Nick had befriended Derek in their school days, it being a known fact in Derek’s case, a secret in Nick’s. Even Derek hadn’t known until after Nick’s marriage to his cousin Regina.

But at least Nicholas knew who his mother was, or at least he did now. The woman whom everyone thought was his mother, his father’s wife, despised him, just as he did her, and had made his life miserable. It was her sister, whom Nick had always thought was his aunt, who was his real mother. She’d always been there for him, but he hadn’t discovered her true identity until a few years before.

They each felt differently about their illegitimacy. When Nicholas had discovered the fact he’d been bitter, until he married Reggie, who didn’t give a fig about it. Derek had always known but hadn’t let it bother him—much. He had a large family, after all, who accepted him as he was. Nicholas hadn’t had that type of support. But Derek did regret never having known his mother, or even known who she was. The few times he’d asked his father many years ago, he’d simply been told that she was dead, so it wasn’t important.

As for Nicholas’s remark, Derek admitted, “Actually, she’s my new mistress.”

Nicholas raised a brow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you swear off keeping any more of those?”

“Yes, but these circumstances are different,” Derek assured him.

“So we all tend to think—for a time,” Nicholas said with a touch of his old cynicism, but then he shrugged. “Well, enjoy her while you can, because the newness will wear thin soon enough and you’ll be sniffing around for a replacement. Happened to me every bloody
time—well, at least until I met your cousin. Should have known I was in love when I couldn’t get that little minx out of my mind no matter what I did.”

“No, Nick, these circumstances are
really
different Fact is, I’m not just keeping her, I—er—bought her.”

Up went that brow again. “I beg your pardon?”

“Bought her,” Derek repeated, then clarified. “As in found her being sold at an auction and—bought her.”

“Just how much blunt are we talking about here?” Nicholas asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Good God, you better hope your father doesn’t learn about it.”

Derek cringed at the very thought. “I know, and there’s no reason he should.”

Nicholas shook his head. “I assume she was just so beautiful you couldn’t resist the impulse?”

“Actually, that was Jeremy’s reaction rather than mine. That scamp wanted to
borrow
the money from me to bid on her. He was bloody well determined till I reminded him he ain’t got no place to keep a mistress.”

“So Jeremy was there?”

“And Percy.”

“Where was this unusual occurrence? One of our—er—your usual haunts?”

Derek grinned. Their threesome had previously been Nick, Percy, and himself, but that was before James moved back to England with
Jeremy—and before old Nick got himself thoroughly leg-shackled.