The Scandal in Kissing an Heir (27 page)

“I’ve no memory of this of course, so it’s entirely based on my own imagination,” she said.

Daniel swallowed hard at the memory of what had happened. He ought to meet with Roxberry so he could discover the culprit behind the shooting and, more to the point, wring the blighter’s neck. Caught up in the story the pictures seemed to convey, he quickly turned the page to find Rebecca greeting him through her bedroom window.

His gaze fell on a picture of himself and Rebecca side by side in her wardrobe, and as he recalled how wonderful that first kiss had been, he reflected on everything they’d been through since—a winding path that had led them to this moment.

“You’ve forgotten your promise,” she said.

The reward.

“Guilty, I admit, but these are just so incredible that I couldn’t help myself. It’s as if you’ve catalogued every key moment of our acquaintance. Look, even Grover’s ball and the carriage ride to Scotland are here . . . our wedding too . . .” His words trailed off as a daring image of their wedding night caught his eye. “I believe I’ve just found your true reluctance for showing me these. This is quite risqué.”

He liked it though, the way she’d captured the passion between them as they’d tangled between the sheets. Not even a breast was visible, yet that only seemed to make it so much more erotic. “You’re right. I must reward you now, and for more than one picture.” He closed the sketchbook and set it on the bedside table. “However will I manage?”

Rebecca was quite convinced he’d think of something—something utterly indecent. Her breasts grew heavy at the very thought of it. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed their coupling these past few days, but now, with his eyes hot upon hers, it was all she could do not to clamber all over him until they both screamed with pleasure.

He was injured though, and she had no desire to cause him further harm, so she held still instead and waited for him to make his move.

“Stand up and face the bed,” he said.

She complied, the skirts of her gown falling loosely around her legs and her bodice still disarranged and baring her breasts to Daniel’s wanting gaze. He fingered the fabric of her skirt with an air of pensiveness, then began to pull at it, hoisting it up over her knees, thighs and hips. He held it like that for a moment while he stared at her, a greedy hunger reflecting her own growing desire. She knew what he was seeing, for she was naked beneath, and somehow, the idea that he might pleasure her like this, still fully garbed, aroused her beyond all measure. When he did nothing, however, she spread her legs wider apart in invitation, thrilling at the groan that came from somewhere deep inside him.

“My God” was all he said before she felt the wet tip of his tongue upon her, one slow stroke that sent a pulse of heat shooting straight through her. She felt her knees grow weak and her whole body begin to sag until she had no choice but to reach out and steady herself on the bedside table.

“Like that, did you?” Daniel was sitting back again and looking up at her with a very wicked gleam in his eyes.

“More,” was all she could manage, and even that was barely audible.

But Daniel must have heard her, for he grinned, adding a flash of white teeth—the primal look of a man intent on ravishing her. Looking up at her, his eyes darker than before, two fingers found her center, parted her flesh and slipped inside. Heaven above she was lucky to still be upright. His fingers moved and she gasped. “Daniel . . . I . . .”

“Yes?” The wicked man was teasing her. To prove it, he moved his fingers again—in and out they went until she felt herself grow taught. She couldn’t speak, could barely form a coherent thought as a wave of heat rose up her legs to meet the swirling flush of tingling warmth that fanned out from her core. And then she shattered on the sound of his name, torn from deep inside her chest. It had not taken long, two minutes at most, but it had felt incredible.

With a sigh of sated satisfaction, Rebecca savored the feeling of her limp body returning to a more grounded state of being. She knew she shouldn’t feel embarrassed by what had just transpired between them, but she couldn’t seem to stop her cheeks from flooding with warmth, and even less so when she noticed the peak in the sheets. Her desires had been expertly quenched, but Daniel’s had not. “I . . . er . . .” she began hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow.

Oh bother
.

She wasn’t usually the shy sort. In fact, she was generally quite outspoken, but this was new territory for her, and finding the right words was not as easy as she’d thought it would be when she’d opened her mouth to speak.
Pull yourself together, Rebecca. You’re a married woman and not nearly as innocent as you were two weeks ago
. She gazed back at Daniel, who was watching her most expectantly. There was no reason for her to feel embarrassed. He was her husband, her friend, her ally, and more than that, he loved her. She straightened her back a little with new resolve and said, “If you would like, I would very much enjoy returning the favor.” His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. She hastily added, “Unless of course you think it would be too painful for you, in which case we can just sit for a bit and look at the paintings if you like or . . . oh . . . I don’t know, play a game of cards or something.” She was babbling now, she realized.

Idiot.

“Cards?” Daniel sounded as if he’d been choking.

Rebecca frowned. “Are you all right?”

He groaned. Poor man, his wound was clearly paining him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We never should have done what we just did. You obviously need rest.”

“Stop,” he muttered, the words sounding like a croak. “Please, Becky, stop talking.”

She said nothing further and just watched as he sank back against his pillows, closed his eyes and heaved a great big sigh. There was still a peak in the sheets.
Oh dear
. Biting her lip, she tried not to stare at it.

“May I be perfectly frank with you?” Daniel asked.

“Of course.”

“Very well then. As you may have noticed, I have a bit of a situation.” He waved one hand in the general direction of his groin. “So there is some discomfort, not from my wound but from my overwhelming lust for you.” He paused, the edge of his mouth kicking up a bit until his signature smile of mischief returned. “I cannot be very active, given my current condition, but if you were serious before when you asked if you could return the favor, then yes, by all means, you may—indeed, I would relish it.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling swept through Rebecca at his words. There was nothing crass about it, and he was making no attempt to seduce her back into a state of wantonness. All he’d done was explain his current state of being and what might be done to alleviate it. She felt humbled really that he would talk so plainly to her about his needs, and thrilled that he trusted her not to shy away from him. “I would do anything for you,” she told him reverently as she pulled the bed sheet away from him.

“Anything?” he murmured, his eyes opening into two narrow slits. She nodded, and a deep rumble shook his chest. “I’ll have to remember that for later.”

“For now, however,” she purred as her fingers curled around him, “I shall take great pleasure in doing this.” And then she bent forward and covered him with her mouth.

Dear merciful God in heaven
.

It took every ounce of willpower within him to remain perfectly still while his wife did what no proper lady of breeding would ever do—or so he’d heard. Even his mistresses had seemed reluctant, never offering such pleasure of their own free will but only if he asked.

Yet Rebecca . . . his hand fisted through her hair as her tongue worked magic along the hard length of him, her lips pulling and sucking as if . . . dear God, she
was
taking pleasure in this. The notion stunned him, and he thanked his lucky stars for whatever deity had brought her his way. What a lucky devil he’d turned out to be.

Her hand stroked up his thigh and he felt a light tremble in his groin—the knowledge of what she would do . . . hoping for it . . . and then she did it, the one thing nobody had ever done before. She cupped him, fondled him gently and then . . . She lifted her head with a frown, a few strands of hair trailing lightly against her cheek. “Is this all right?” she asked. She looked truly unsure and concerned. “I mean, is this . . . do you like it?”

Like it?

He wanted to raise her to bloody sainthood for her efforts. “Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, Becky, it’s . . . very . . . very good . . . the best . . . ever.” Good Lord, he could barely get the words out, he was breathing so hard. The smile she offered in response was not in the least bit innocent—it was tantalizing and greedy, like that of a siren who’d just spotted a lonely sailor. She bent her head again and he closed his eyes, giving himself up to the pleasure of her ministrations until he began to feel his inner thigh muscles starting to strain. He pulled at her hair, tugging her away from him and asking her to use her hand instead as tingles started to spread across his skin. The pressure intensified with each stroke she made until he felt himself burst, heart bouncing in his chest, his breath coming in heavy gusts as he spent himself on his belly and her hand.

He felt both exhausted and immensely gratified. “Thank you,” he said as he opened his eyes to gaze up at her wondrous face. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

She stepped away from the bed, righting the bodice of her gown as she went to the dresser and pulled out a couple of handkerchiefs so they could clean themselves. “You were just you, Daniel,” she said, “and you were . . . you
are
. . . everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

“Except for my inability to support you,” he said, the depression he felt whenever he considered their financial state taking hold of him once more.

She scoffed at that, the little minx. “I think you’re doing just brilliantly under the circumstances. After all, you lost the financial backing your uncle had assured you of if you married, upon which you used your skill at gambling to help us get by for a bit, and when that turned out to be too dangerous you sold your beloved phaeton. On top of that, you’ve invested in some promising companies, which only proves your dedication to doing what is right and best for us. I’m proud of you, and I have no doubt that we’ll get through this somehow.”

How could she be so relaxed about it? “I’ve considered selling the house as well,” he told her.

She paused, then seated herself on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. “I understand that it has some unpleasant memories which I assume must be linked to your parents. Madame Renarde mentioned that the upstairs remains locked, and I have noticed that there are some rooms that you choose to avoid.”

He didn’t wish to talk about this now, but since she was asking and he did not wish to brush her aside, he steeled himself. “You know that my mother left quite suddenly. We were here when it happened, enjoying the London Season. It was just as splendid as it had been the previous years, with picnics in the park, trips to Gunther’s and outings to toy shops. My parents had a lot of friends whom they would invite for daily visits. Many of them had children that I could play with. We were a happy family and a very loving one.

“But then it all changed. One second my mother was there, joking and laughing with my father and me . . . and then she was gone.” He shook his head, still unable after all these years to fathom how she could have done it. He hated her for abandoning him like that, hated thinking of her laughing happily with a new family . . . new children that she loved more than she did him. And he hated her for pushing his father to the limit, for taking his father away from him as well. He wondered if she even knew that he had died somewhere in France. “How can a mother’s love for her child fade like that?” he asked.

“I cannot answer that,” Rebecca said, her voice filled with pain and regret, “for I do not know.”

Damn, how he hated the melancholy that had settled upon them. He made an attempt to brush it aside. “Anyway, I found that note she left me in the nursery and have never returned there since. I try to avoid some of the other rooms as well, like the study, where I’ll always see my father seated behind his desk, and the music room. My mother loved to play the piano.”

“Is that why this room is so much smaller than the guest bedroom?”

He nodded. “I switched the two when I realized that I’d soon be returning with a wife. It was the only thing I could think of in order to preserve my own sanity.”

She gazed back at him with big round eyes, and then she leaned toward him, not to kiss him but to embrace him, her slim arms coming around him in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “No child should have to go through something like that.”

He said nothing, just taking comfort in the warmth of her closeness and the love she imparted to him with every breath she took. What he needed—what they both needed—was a fresh start. He pulled away and looked at her with renewed determination and with a clear vision of what he wanted for his future. “We’ll sell the house and find something else—a place where we can make our own happy memories without any of the unhappy ones lurching in the shadows. And if you will permit,” he said as he reached for her sketchbook, “I think these fairy pictures of yours would work brilliantly for a children’s storybook.”

Rebecca’s lips parted in surprise. “A storybook?”

He nodded. “Yes. I mean, they practically tell a story on their own, but if we add some words I’m sure it would become immensely popular. Kingsborough’s brother runs a small publishing house, you know, so I could speak to him.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She glanced hesitantly at the sketchbook. “Do you really suppose it might be a success?”

“I am confident of it.” He smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t you fetch some paper so we can get started, and I’ll ask Hawkins to send a note over to Lord Winston requesting an interview. Surely he must be back in town by now.”

Three hours later, they had the basics for their story and had cut out the pictures and pasted them on separate sheets of paper with the text below each one, creating a sample of what they envisioned for the final book. “I think it looks great,” Daniel said as he leafed through the pages, “and I cannot wait to show it to Lord Winston. I have every confidence that he’ll agree to publish it for us.” And if he didn’t, Daniel would take the book elsewhere. Somehow he’d ensure that it made its way into shops all over the country, because the pictures were just too incredible to be hidden away—they deserved to be seen by everyone.