The Perfect Waltz (42 page)

“Yes. The goddess of love,” he affirmed. Would she be insulted by the comparison?

She gave him a brilliant smile. “I’m not sure I know how to be a pagan love goddess, but I would dearly love to learn,” she said. “Show me how.”

And before he could respond, she lifted herself off him and tugged at the sheet covering him. “Ohh,” she said on a long note of discovery. She touched him lightly. “This is what I could feel pushing against me before, isn’t it? It’s so warm and—”

“Mmmph!” he managed to say though gritted teeth. He caught her questing hand in his. “Not. Yet.”

“Oh.”

“If you do much more of that, it will all be over.”

She frowned. “But—”

“I want us to take our time so that your first time will be very special.”

“It will be special. It is already special.” She regarded him thoughtfully and started stroking him. “I think you’re trying to be noble again.”

Sebastian blinked. He’d just stripped her naked. Where was the nobility in that?

She scratched him lightly on the chest, circling his nipples, and he shuddered and arched helplessly under her. “And I’ll have you know, Sebastian Reyne, that if I’m to be your pagan love goddess, I don’t want you to play the noble martyr.” She bent down and sucked his nipple, then bit it gently.

His body bucked under her.

She sat back, a look of deep, feminine satisfaction on her face. “It’s very sweet of you, and I love you for it, but truly, you don’t need to hold back, being careful. I have waited quite long enough. I told you, I want you to take me.” She scratched delicately along the length of his rigid member and said softly, “I want to feel possessed, in a . . . a ravishing burst of passion.”

“A ravishing burst of passion, I see,” he repeated, using every ounce of self-control he had.

She squeezed him gently. “I want the hungry, passionate man who nearly seduced me on the roof of the opera house. The man whose hands were shaking with desire as he caressed me on the chaise longue. You denied yourself both times. This time I don’t want you to hold back. I don’t want you to stop. I want you to feel that glory, too, with me.”

His eyes blazed with some powerful emotion. Exultation perhaps. Triumph. Passion.

“Very well, my goddess. Your wish is my command.”

He gave a great heave and flipped her over on her back. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and ravished it with fierce need, and Hope felt what she had felt the first time he looked at her and had craved ever since.

His soul-scorching hunger. For her. For Hope Merridew. It warmed and completed her as nothing else could. It transformed a clumsy girl to . . . to a magnificent, beloved man’s love goddess.

She kissed him back as hard as she could, losing herself in his scorching, spiraling passion, following his lead blindly, joyously. His hands were everywhere, stroking, squeezing, caressing, arousing. She ran her hands over him, reveling in his heat, his strength, and his desire.

He kissed her down her jaw, down her neck, kissed the hollow at its base, and then moved to her breasts. The slightly roughened male skin rubbing against hers created a delicious friction, and then he took one nipple in his mouth and sucked, and she almost screamed. Not pleasure, not pain; something powerfully, addictively
other.

He sucked and caressed in hot, rhythmic waves, and she shuddered and rode the waves in glorious abandon, wholly in his power. His hand slid between her legs and stroked her there.

She was dimly aware of herself thrashing and bucking, of his mouth burning, sucking, and his hands stroking, and her body was on fire and suddenly . . . conflagration.

He paused a moment, and she hung, suspended, out of time, out of place, and then he covered her body wholly with his and entered her with one long thrust.

She gasped and clutched him in sudden panic.

He said raggedly, “It’s all right, love. The worst is over.”

The worst?
It wasn’t bad, what she felt. It was just . . . different. Stretched as if to bursting point. Impaled, but not in pain. Invaded, but not by an enemy. And connected, gloriously, intimately connected.

Over?
“I don’t want it to be over.” She wrapped her arms and legs around him, blindly savoring the connection, refusing to let him leave her.

He began to stroke her again, and she felt her body shudder and clench around him. He stroked again, and her hips thrust upward. And then he began to move inside her, in powerful, rhythmic thrusts, driving her with him, upward, elsewhere, over the edge.

Until she shattered again in his arms, into sublime oblivion.

 
“Are you all right, love?”

Hope blinked and stretched. She noticed with a sense of amazement that rain was still pattering against the leaded windowpanes, that water continued to gurgle down the gutters.

How could everything be the same when she felt so different?

“My love?” His voice was deep. Anxious.

She turned in his arms and stared at him. Her man. Her beloved. He looked troubled. Gently he stroked her cheek with his thumbs. She was amazed to see they came away wet. Had she wept, then? She didn’t remember.

“How do you feel?” The question seemed momentous.

Hope thought about her answer, trying to think of the perfect way to tell him how she felt. It was so special, she wanted to get it right, make him see.

“When I was a little girl,” she began slowly, “I watched a snake split its skin. I feel like that snake now.”

“Oh God!” he exclaimed.

He bent to kiss her, but she held him back with her hand, cupping and stroking his jaw in loving reassurance. “No, wait, let me finish. I want to explain.”

He swallowed, looking unhappy.

“The snake was a dull mottled gray, and when it split its skin slowly, it looked painful, but I don’t think it was. It rubbed and rubbed against some rocks and then, suddenly, the skin started to split.”

He groaned, and she pressed her fingers over his mouth, saying, “Wait! The snake pushed itself between two rocks and wriggled and suddenly it just glided out, leaving its old dull gray skin behind. And, oh, Sebastian, the new snake was so fresh and beautiful, the colors on its skin were so bright and brilliant.” She looked at him and felt her vision blur with tears. “I feel like that snake, all new and different and beautiful. And you made me feel this way.”

Her words moved him, so that he was obliged to bury his face in her hair, lest he shed unmanly tears. Finally he was able to say, “But you are beautiful. An acknowledged belle of the ton.”

“Oh that!” She shook her head. “No matter what other people think of my looks, I have never
felt
beautiful. I have a twin who looks just like me. My sister Charity is much more beautiful than either of us, and Grace, I think, shall outshine us all one day. Prudence, the eldest of us, is the most wonderful person in the world, and yet the ton thought her plain.” She smiled. “But Prudence’s husband, Gideon, thinks her utterly beautiful and is honestly bewildered when others do not see it.”

She gave him a luminous look and stroked his cheek. “You do that to me. I have always felt like the clumsy, inadequate sister, the one who can never do things properly, never get things right. I am the hoyden, the one who breaks the rules, who acts before she thinks and gets everyone into trouble. I am frightened of the dark, of being shut in. I am argumentative, impatient—”

He hushed her with a kiss. “You are beautiful, inside and out. If people call you a hoyden it is an endearment, not a criticism.” He kissed her again. “You are generous and loving, and you bring joy wherever you go. You heal old hurts and open others to the joy in life you feel.” He took her face in his hands and said quietly, “And tonight you have made me the proudest and happiest man in the world.”

Her face crumpled, and she hugged him convulsively and mumbled into his neck, “I love you, Sebastian Reyne.”

“And I love you, my beloved silken elf.”

“Silken elf?” she queried.

“When I first saw you dancing, I thought you were a silken elf,” he explained. “You are so light and dainty on your feet.”

She gave a delicate yawn and snuggled her head on his chest. “I like it,” she murmured sleepily. “I can be a silken elf or a pagan love goddess.”

“Or a bold hoyden,” he added. “I love every gorgeous aspect of you.” He punctuated each word with a kiss.

She drifted off to sleep in his arms, smiling. The wind howled in the eaves, rain pelted the windowpanes, and Sebastian lay in the high bed of the small inn, feeling happier and more at home than he’d ever felt in his life.

At dawn, she awoke and they made love again before she tiptoed down the passage and returned to her bed.

 
Late the following afternoon, the line of carriages turned in at a pair of stone-mounted iron gates. Carradice Abbey stood in a parkland of rolling hills. An imposing three-story building, it was somewhat in the classical style, though with the odd baroque feature, and a terrace all around the rooftop.

Sebastian made a note of that rooftop terrace. It might be a nice private place to take Hope. For the view, of course.

A flight of perhaps twenty broad stone steps rose to an imposing entrance flanked by four Grecian columns. As the coaches drew up, a tall, dark-haired gentleman came running lightly down the steps.

“Gideeeonnnn!”
came a shriek from the second carriage, and before the carriage had even stopped, young Grace flung open the door and leaped out. She ran pell-mell across the raked gravel driveway and flung herself at him.

He received her flying body on his chest and staggered back, laughing, as she planted kisses on his cheeks. “Greetings, young Limb, I’ve missed you, too.”

Hope squeezed Sebastian’s arm and explained. “That’s my brother-in-law, Lord Carradice—Prudence’s husband. Grace adores him. You would never believe Grace was once a timid, gloomy child, would you?”

Grace hugged Lord Carradice, hanging off his neck, and he hugged her back, saying, “Gently, Limb. Delighted as I am to see you, I have aged since I last saw you last.”

“Oh, pooh!” said Grace.

“Such an elegant expression, Limb—or should I call you Aunt Limb now?”

Grace stopped dead. “Aunt Limb? You mean—?”

Hope and Faith flew up the steps and grabbed Gideon’s arm. “Is it true? The baby is born? And Charity? How is she? What is the baby? Boy or girl? Is it healthy? When was it born? How is Charity?”

Lord Carradice put Grace down, kissed Faith and Hope on both cheeks, and said, “All is well, my dears, I shall answer all your questions, only be calm. Everything is splendid. In any case, here comes Aunt Gussie, who will hurl twice as many questions at me twice as fast. Aunt Gussie!”

To Sebastian’s amazement, Lord Carradice picked up Lady Augusta in a bear hug and twirled her around in a circle as if she were as light as a feather. She shrieked quite as loudly as Grace and slapped and kissed her nephew happily. “Gideon, you dreadful boy, stop that at once! You say Charity is well and the babe delivered safely? What did—”

“Stop!” He held up his hand dramatically. Into the brief, surprised silence he said rapidly, “Charity is perfectly well, though tired. The baby is a girl, born two days ago. She is small, red-faced, and between you and me, a little ugly, but neither Edward nor Charity, nor even my Prudence, can see it, so please do not mention it as they all get unreasonably testy when the subject is raised. Edward is quite besotted, so do not expect any sensible conversation from him at all. The baby is strong and healthy and yells the house down at regular intervals. They’ve called her Aurora—perfectly accurate, too—she is a roarer. Ouch!” He turned and stared in mock indignation at the small, very round lady who had descended the steps unnoticed and biffed him lightly across the head. He added severely, “And what did I say about you going anywhere near any stairs alone?”

She ignored him and came toward the Merridew girls with tears shining in her eyes. The oldest sister, Prudence. All four sisters and Lady Augusta hugged, kissed, and shed a few more tears.

Gideon watched with a proud smile on his face. As he pulled out a handkerchief, he noticed Sebastian. He gave him a measured look, then held out his hand. “How do you do? I am Carradice, by the way.”

Sebastian introduced himself and shook hands. He nodded at Hope, “She’s been very anxious.”

“Yes, they are all very close. My wife misses them, too. Ah, here is Edward, the proud papa!”

A man of medium height came down the steps, his round face wreathed with smiles. Lady Augusta surged forward, exclaiming, “Edward, my dear boy, congratulations!”

“Thank you, Aunt Gussie! You look wonderful. Gideon’s told you the news, I gather. Isn’t it splendid? Charity is asleep now, but she will be so happy to see you all.”

Edward greeted each person carefully, then turned to where Sebastian and his sisters stood. He held out his hand to Sebastian, but his smile embraced the girls as well. “How do you do? I don’t think we’ve met, have we?”

“Oh heavens! My manners,” Hope exclaimed. She rapidly performed all the introductions.

“Come inside, everyone,” Prudence said. “Tea will be ready in twenty minutes.”

She started toward the steps, when her husband said, “No stairs, remember?” and swept her into his arms. Ignoring her halfhearted protests, he carried her up the steps, then set her on her feet as if she were made of spun glass. Everyone else trooped into the house after them, talking and laughing and hugging.

Dorie and Cassie hung back a little, watching shyly. “They’re a real family, aren’t they?” Cassie said in wonder.

“So are we,” said Sebastian firmly and crooked his elbows. Arm in arm the small Reyne family marched up the steps into Carradice Abbey.

 
“Hope, love, you look positively radiant.” Prudence and Faith sat on the bed in Hope’s bedchamber, watching her unpack. Hope had just picked up her flannel nightgown. She hugged it to her chest. “Oh, Prue, I’m so happy. Do you like him?”