Twice Fallen (23 page)

Her climax almost caused him to embarrass himself, the combination of long abstinence and her allure already threatening his self-control so he had to actually fight ejaculation as a primal response to her pleasure. When she finally lay panting and dazed in the aftermath, Damien took a moment and inhaled deeply, his throbbing cock calling for intemperate action when his brain advised restraint.

Smoothing his hand upward over her still quivering belly, he subtly moved his weight so he was positioned between her open legs. It was with some measure of difficulty, because his entire concentration was on his need to be inside her, that he reminded himself this was a life-altering moment for them both.

“I want you,” he said with more vehemence than he intended, his voice low. “I need you. But not unless you tell me yes, Lily.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Her eyes shimmered in the faint light and her hands smoothed down his back. “Damien,
yes
.”

He began to enter her then, the penetration slow, deliciously
so, the tightness and heat of her vaginal passage tantalizing and rapturous. He didn’t pause at her maidenhead but pushed through it swiftly, catching her cry of surprise in his mouth as he kissed her with soothing tenderness, finally completely within her.

And when he began to move in the age-old carnal rhythm of thrust and withdrawal, at first very slowly, to let her adjust to it, but then with more urgency, his need grew until he couldn’t contain it and a groan erupted from his lungs as he pushed in deeply, releasing his seed in a brilliance of pleasure that shook him, body and soul.

They were both damp, breathless, and Damien held her close as he rolled to his side, his damaged leg aching but the pain negligible considering his personal contentment.

He wasn’t particularly gifted at sentimental declarations. Most of his skills were in the areas of subterfuge and deception, but considering what had just happened between them was a milestone in a woman’s life, he wanted—needed—to say the right words.

“I think I’ll have you kidnapped more often,” he murmured teasingly.

“Hmm. I am in favor of that plan, my lord.” Her hand moved over his bare chest, and she rested against him, lax and deliciously female, her hair tumbled over her pale shoulders.

He brushed a strand away from her cheek and peered down at her. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Enlightened.”

About me
.
Us
.
This
. Yet he hesitated to ask, for he really wasn’t sure he had the right. Yes, he was now her lover—her first lover—but as he’d acknowledged earlier,
he’d never given her a proper courtship, just a proper bedding.

Quite the opposite of Arthur Kerr, who had courted her with deliberate charm and intent, but then declined to follow through with it.

He looked into her eyes. “I’m enlightened, too.”

Chapter 19

T

he figurine sat on the polished floor and Regina studied it from her repose, in this case on a chaise that her father had brought back at her insistence from her mother’s apartments in Paris. Even as a child she’d been discerning in her tastes, and the piece had been given to her mother by a gentleman who might or might not have been her lover. Perhaps it did come from one of Marie Antoinette’s follies, or perhaps not, but either way it was elegantly carved and beautifully made. She’d had it re-covered in dark blue damask a few years ago and it was one of her favorite pieces of furniture for both sentimental and aesthetic reasons.

One hand propping up her head, Regina studied the statue and thought about the symbolic aspect of the gift.

Does he know
?

It couldn’t be. She hadn’t changed yet, not that she could tell, except maybe her breasts were already slightly larger and definitely more sensitive, but she hadn’t seen James in well over a week. She hadn’t been ready.

Not that she was sure she was ready now, but she’d indulged herself and held this moment at bay because for the first time in her life she didn’t know what she wanted.

“It’s supposed to be Rhea, a Greek goddess of fertility.” The voice that spoke from the doorway was negligent, almost deceptively casual. “Or so I was told. I cannot pretend to any level of expertise on the subject.”

It was a measure of their relationship that now he came straight up to her rooms instead of waiting formally downstairs, and he hadn’t asked to be announced first either. James Bourne was inherently polite by nature, so this was progress indeed.

Regina straightened a little, but stayed in her seat, adjusting herself against the plush back in a languid movement. Her heart had begun to pound. It was ridiculous, of course. She was thirty-five, not some chit just out of the schoolroom. “It
is
Rhea,” she commented as he strolled into the room, watching him strip off his gloves. “Note the ring of pottery around her head.… That’s a turret crown, but the tips have been broken off over the years. And those aren’t dogs flanking her, but lions, though the chipping makes it hard to tell. It’s quite an ancient work. Wherever did you get it?”

“I don’t know if that matters so much as whether or not you like it.” James looked at the battered statuary dubiously, his blue eyes holding a hint of amusement. “I confess it looked like something one might toss in the rubbish, but the proprietor of the shop assured me it was worth far more than I paid for it, and very old.”

“And you thought I might like it.”

“Don’t you?” His gaze swept to her, his good-looking face uncertain. His blond hair was slightly ruffled by the windy evening, which made him more handsome than ever in her opinion. She liked a little disorder.

He frowned. “It was merely a guess, and I suppose, in retrospect, maybe not a suitable gift—”

“On the contrary,” she interrupted with a tight smile. “I adore it. Though it is unsettling you know me so well. Care for a brandy?”

Such an unoriginal ploy, but she’d heard her stepmother use it on her father so many times when she wished to distract him that it came naturally. James was dressed tonight in a formal ensemble of dark evening clothes that told her he’d been out, or maybe was headed to a society event, because a glance at the clock told her it was not that late even though she was tired.

This pregnancy was playing havoc with her usual nocturnal schedule.

Yes, she’d come to the conclusion that she definitely carried his child, confirmed by a discreet physician Luke had recommended who could be trusted to never reveal her identity. In a kindly manner the older gentleman had suggested after his examination that he knew someone to help her place the child with a family far away when the time came.

Never
.

The vehemence of her reaction, the intensity of the emotional reflex, was not what she expected, but still it struck deep. Give away her child? Give away James’s child? Absolutely not.

That was one part of her dilemma that wasn’t a dilemma at all. Like her mother, she might find herself with child out of wedlock, but as she adjusted to the idea, she found she couldn’t contemplate giving up her babe.

No. That was wrong.
Their
baby.

For so long she’d been so strictly independent that the
idea of having to share this responsibility chafed, but then again, she knew he deserved the truth. Her father had been denied that, and he’d made it clear that had he been told, he would have played a role in her life much earlier. As it was, he’d been a loving and dedicated parent, but her mother’s secrecy had cost them both precious years together.

Her past kept her from giving the baby away—not that she’d ever considered it—and also precluded not telling her lover she was going to bear his child.

Damn
.

It might be an unladylike word, but then again, she had never concerned herself too much with being a lady in the first place. Her current predicament of unwed and pregnant certainly bore that out.

James gave her a level look, still in the doorway. “Am I staying? If the answer is yes, I would like a brandy. However, as you’ve declined to see me for the past week, I was beginning to wonder if I had upset you in some manner, though you have my word as a gentleman I cannot recall what I might have done.”

“You are staying.”

His brows rose minutely. “I am? That is gratifying to hear.”

“You are ever a gentleman, James. That is part of why I have avoided you.” She rose then, maybe a bit too swiftly, for she had to take in a deep breath to quell a rush of light-headedness, and swayed.

“Regina.” He was there instantly, moving across the room with long, athletic strides, catching her in his arms. “Have you been ill? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

It was ridiculous, for she—who had never wanted to
be coddled and cared for by any man—actually savored his embrace and support for a moment, resting her cheek against the superfine material of his elegant coat, briefly closing her eyes. Luckily, these moments passed quickly and the dizziness abated as fast as it had come.

The room was so normal, with the scattering of mismatched chairs, the beautiful Moorish table Luke had sent her from Spain for her birthday one year, and like every other room in the town house, an abstract collection of art on the walls. In this case, landscapes, not of the bucolic English countryside but instead her interpretations of what she’d read of exotic places such as India and the African continent. She enjoyed working that way, with nothing but an image in her mind and a canvas, paintbrush, and a palette of brilliant colors.…

But she hadn’t painted in days. That had not happened in her adult life.

“I’m not ill.” She straightened, doing her best to look coolly composed, idly adjusting the bodice on her gown, a simple pale pink muslin much suitable for earlier in the day. She’d fallen asleep after luncheon and not bothered to change. “But thank you for your concern.”

“My concern?” James let her go, but it was reluctantly, and she could see the tension in the set of his broad shoulders and the shadows in his blue eyes. His tone held a bitter, mocking note unlike him. “Fine, we should address my
concern
, Regina.”

She crossed over to the decanter, picking up a glass. The mere thought of any beverage but weak tea at this point made her nauseous, so she poured a glass only for him. “Please, go ahead.”

“I love you.”

In the act of turning to extend him the snifter, she froze.

James exhaled raggedly and ran a lean hand through his hair, his tall body tense. His jaw was set. “Yes, I love you. This past week has been hell. If you wish to end it between us, I suppose I was a fool for expecting anything else, but damn you, I
love
you.”

The crystal glass all but slipped from her fingers and she only consciously kept hold of it by tightening her grip enough she was surprised the bowl didn’t shatter in her hand.

The nuances of the moment were both clear and yet obscured. The rawness in his voice balanced by her fear of hearing those exact words, her resistance tempered by his evident sincerity, the tick of the clock on the mantel in the resulting silence as they looked at each other symbolically loud and yet absurdly normal.

“Say something.” He moved to gently remove the glass from her now shaking hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… well, I had to say it, I suppose.”

Regina stood there, her hands now dropped to her sides, and watched him take a convulsive swallow of the golden liquor, her emotions in turmoil. It wasn’t like she’d never heard impassioned declarations before, but James had been different from the beginning and with the coming babe…

Wasn’t she in turmoil enough?

The truth for a truth. That was fair enough.

“I’m going to have a child.” Her legs were weak, but she straightened her spine and took in a deep breath, meeting his gaze. Her smile was tremulous. “There. I’ve said something.”

He was speechless.

Elated.

Frightened.

Bewildered, James discovered in the next moment, by how he should respond to the revelation of impending fatherhood. Especially because though Regina was looking at him with calm poise, in truth her normally flawless complexion held a singular, unnatural pallor in contrast to the richness of her hair. She was a vision in her soft pink gown, but he had wondered why she was still so informally attired despite the hour, though it wasn’t like Regina conformed to any kind of normal schedule.

A child
…

They had never been cautious because she’d told him it wasn’t necessary. That first night, as they’d kissed, touched, and breathlessly made love, she’d said there was no need to worry about a possible conception.

He took a deep breath, trying to assimilate this revelation, to reconcile the tumult of his emotions. “I was under the impression you couldn’t have children.”

“So was I.” Her expression was neutral. “The physician I consulted assures me that this happens. It isn’t necessarily the female who is barren, and I haven’t had all that many lovers. After my first love affair did not produce a child, I assumed I couldn’t have one. Don’t laugh at my ignorance, please.”