Twice Fallen (31 page)

At first she’d thought she was dreaming, the touch of his hands part of a hazy fantasy. But the man easing her nightdress up over her head was very real, the intensity of his mouth capturing hers again once the offending garment was tossed away no illusion, and that male part of him, long and hard, pressed against her thigh, was also unmistakably real.

It hadn’t occurred to her that Damien might steal into her bedroom, but the audacity of it should not have been a surprise, not when he’d undoubtedly done much more dangerous things in the war.

What was dangerous was how reckless he made her feel, and how
alive
. That had been missing from her life the past four years, for some small part of her had been extinguished that night with Arthur, and Damien Northfield had brought it back, like an uncovered ember, barely smoldering but carefully and expertly fanned back into a flame.

She certainly was on fire now.

His hands roamed everywhere, followed by his mouth. To her breasts, first cupped and caressed and then kissed, her nipples teased to high points by the swirl of his tongue. Lily arched at the delicious sensation, her hands smoothing his back, a small gasp escaping at the heated adhesion of his mouth.

The first lesson in the bedroom should be that while you are the object of his desire, keep in mind you are not an object at all, but a willing participant. Most men with a modicum of intelligence and sensitivity do not wish for a woman to simply lie there and let them use their body. Submission is all well
and good, but the pleasure for both parties is greatly enhanced when a woman also caresses her lover
.

Lily had stayed up and started that shocking—but fascinating—book that had arrived so mysteriously in the post, and that tidbit of advice swirled into her mind, though she had to admit it was hard to think at this particular moment.

When he trailed his mouth upward, she managed to murmur, “I want to touch you.”

He teased the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat madly. “You’ll receive no argument from me, my lady.”

And the author of that wicked book, Lady Rothburg, whoever she might be, was correct, Lily discovered as she ran her hands along the contours of his chest, marveling at the differences between them, tracing the width of his shoulders, the muscles of his back. Braced above her, Damien stayed remarkably still until she daringly ran her fingertips along his side and then slid her hand between them to touch him
there
.

His cock—Lady Rothburg very bluntly referred to it that way—was surprisingly velvet smooth, incredibly hot and hard, and Damien’s reaction the moment she circled her fingers around his erect sex was gratifying.

“Lily,” he said on a low groan.

It appeared the not-so-ladylike Lady R. was correct, Lily found when he kissed her. It was more fervent than before, his tongue taking possession, his hands cupping her hips as he pressed his body against hers.

“I need you ready. God help me, I
need
you.” He eased downward, his hand skimming across her quivering
belly, his fingers tracing her navel, his tongue dipping in, and then lower.…

And lower.

The vivid experience of exquisite pleasure when he touched her between her legs that first night filled her with a sense of wicked anticipation, and so she parted willingly at the pressure of his palms. She blushed, still shy, but the room was dark and there was something arousing about doing the forbidden. She didn’t fully realize his intention until his hair brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, and a strange sensation curled in her belly at the first touch of his mouth as he parted the folds of her sex. His hands cupped her hips, lifting her slightly into the scandalous kiss.

“Damien!”

“Shhh, love.”

In her shock, she had said his name out loud, which was hardly advisable, but at the same moment her bones melted and her pulse quickened. Lily thought it impossible to experience such a delicious pleasure, yet as his mouth moved against her, she let out an involuntary but telling moan.

It was incomprehensible he’d wish to use his mouth in such a way, but her eyes closed and her body shuddered, and Lily had to acknowledge it was not just decadent, but
rapturous
.

This time, since she anticipated the growing tension, the elusive need, the pervasive desire for that pinnacle, it was more intense when it happened, and she might have cried out again, she couldn’t be sure, left limp as the erotic wave first surged and engulfed her and finally began to ebb, leaving her limp and trembling.

When he slid upward and into her, there was no pain with the penetration, just the pleasure of the joining. His rigid cock stretched her still-contracting feminine passage, his breath rapid in her ear as he began to thrust and withdraw, the rhythm much more primal than that first time. Lily clung to him, her hips lifting instinctively into each inward glide until he stiffened and went still, exhaling against her neck as he dropped his head and the hot rush of his seed filled her.

Once the feverish need was over, she discovered, there was a special magic in the aftermath. His respiration slowed gradually, and he slightly shifted his weight to keep from crushing her, his mouth curving in a purely masculine smile when he finally lifted himself up and looked at her.

His fingertips touched her cheek. “I think I shall steal behind enemy lines more often.”

“I’m hardly your enemy.” She barely had the strength to say the words. “But I admit to being entirely vanquished.”

“A mutual surrender,” he said softly.

She loved the way the shadows highlighted his cheekbones and the tousled thickness of his hair, the way his damp skin felt under her palms and ripple of muscle when he moved.…

She loved
him
.

Not with a young girl’s first infatuation, as it had been with Arthur, though infatuation was certainly a part of it. Not because of his looks, or his illustrious family, or the coup of making such a fashionable marriage against the odds of her disgrace, but just for the opposite reasons. Because she sensed Damien didn’t care about any of
that any more than she did. Fortune and social standing didn’t seem to matter to him, and though they had hardly experienced an identical journey, it seemed to her that they both understood survival.

“If every battle is so pleasurable, I look forward to the next skirmish,” she murmured, artlessly kissing his jaw, his sex still deep inside her, her hands resting on his shoulders. Impulsively she asked, “Why is it, do you think, that a certain man and a woman choose each other when in this world there are so many?”

“You expect me to be philosophical now?” He grinned, looking at once much younger and lighter, his weight balanced on his elbows. “I can honestly say I have no idea.”

“There have been other women.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement, and she really didn’t want to hear anything about them, so she quickly went on in a hushed whisper. “Why am I different?”

He didn’t answer at once, their joined bodies relaxed. One finger traced the line of her eyebrow, the touch very light. “You are more direct than what I am used to in my recent life, where evasiveness was the order of the day. What can I say? I don’t know. I think it was that moment when you turned your back to have your gown unfastened before we went down that dark staircase to escape the library. I don’t deny I am attracted to your beauty, but your courage moved me first.”

“I don’t know that it was courage so much as I was trying to avoid embarrassing my family again.” The weight of his body was pleasant and she was more than blissfully exhausted, physical satisfaction like a drug.

Damien murmured, “You never embarrassed them as
far as I can tell, and yes, it
was
courage. The same type of integrity it took to not scream to the world Sebring’s secret because you are that kind of person, which is why he told you in the first place. He trusted you, and so do I, and quite frankly, I don’t trust easily.”

“I know you don’t.” Her throat was suddenly hot, as if there might be tears threatening, and she truly couldn’t think of a single reason to cry except for excessive happiness, and who would cry over that?

“Darling.” His fingertip caught the first telltale droplet as it slid down her cheek. “I wasn’t trying to upset you—”

“You didn’t.” She reached up and touched his jaw. “I’m just… happy.”

For a moment his face was unguarded, vulnerable, the set of his mouth uncertain, and she loved him all the more for that poignant look of confusion on his face. He kissed her then and whispered, “Is that what this is? I think I could get used to happiness.”

H

One of them seemed genuinely glad to see him—and one decidedly did not.

Lady Sebring obviously remembered him from the night at the opera, for he received a frigid look as Arthur greeted him. The viscountess was not a dazzling beauty, but not unattractive either, though her faint air of disdain did nothing to enhance her rather unremarkable features. She did have lovely dark hair, thick and shining, at this moment drawn up under a fashionable hat, and her day gown suited her curvaceous figure.

“Lord Damien,” she said in a cold voice that reflected her feelings perfectly. “How nice of you to call.”

Her voice said, of course, she didn’t think it was nice at all, and he wondered at once if it was him, or if it was her hatred of Lily.

The latter, at a guess. By now all of London probably knew he was interested in the winsome sister of the Earl of Augustine and openly courting her, so he would think
Lady Sebring, if she was truly jealous, would be grateful he was removing what she might view as competition from the fray.

Unless, of course, she despised Lily enough to begrudge her any happiness at all. A flicker of dislike for the woman went through him.

Lily, in his opinion, was much more the injured party than her successor, and if Arthur’s wife was jealous, the malice was not at all aimed in the right direction.

“Come in, Northfield,” Arthur said in a slightly too congenial tone. “Penelope has another appointment soon.… Perhaps we can simply retire to my study.”

As the idea of sitting through an excruciating session with the unfriendly Lady Sebring held no appeal, and she wasn’t why he was there anyway, Damien smiled faintly. “I can’t stay long.”

As she swept past him the viscountess murmured, not quite under her breath, “Good.”

“Penelope,” her husband said in grim reprimand.

“I meant, good day, then, Lord Damien,” she said over her shoulder without slowing her pace, a footman hastening to take her cloak.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur told him once they were seated in the private confines of his personal domain, his hand shaking slightly as he dashed brandy into two glasses. “Penelope has always been a bit outspoken, but she isn’t usually rude.”

Damien wasn’t all that interested in his friend’s wife. Even though she had been abrasive, he was not unaware aristocratic ladies were sometimes both petulant and spoiled. It could be her rich, influential father made her think she did not have to bow to even common courtesy.
On the other hand, there were true ladies like Lily, no matter how blue their blood, who had admirable attributes like loyalty and integrity. Arthur certainly had benefited from both those traits. Damien murmured, “No need to apologize.”

Arthur sat down in the chair behind the desk too heavily, making it creak. “God help me, she’s worse lately. It isn’t an excuse, but she can’t conceive the child she wants so desperately. It wasn’t a love match to begin with, but this is tearing at even the basest nod to civility in our marriage.”

“I suspect her lack of courtesy has something to do with the rumors of my engagement to Lily.”

That was frank enough, as he hoped this would be a candid conversation.

“I would guess you are right.” Arthur took a solid swallow of brandy. “Is it true?”

“Yes.”

It took a moment, but he said finally, “I’m glad for her. I don’t know if it is fair of me, but despite our past I consider her a friend.”

That softly spoken sentiment gave
him
a twinge of jealousy, Damien noted with an inner cynicism, and he had no idea why, given Lord Sebring’s relationship with Lily was strictly platonic, a truth he knew better than anyone. But he was there for a purpose. “And a loyal one. She didn’t tell me, but I believe I know why you are being blackmailed. Can you guess how anyone else would discover it?”

Arthur looked disconcerted, his skin taking on a reddish hue, but then he stared at his glass. “I suppose I invited you into my troubles, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised you’d find out.”

“The secrecy cannot be easy.” Damien kept his tone nonjudgmental, and truly, he didn’t think less of his old friend particularly. The war had taken the edge off his fine sensibilities. To his mind the preference for the same sex was not easy to understand, but then again, Arthur was not the first man—or woman for that matter—to have that bent. “And I am not here to discuss your personal life, except to the extent that surely you must have thought about where your tormentor got his information.”

“I don’t know.” The flush faded and Arthur’s fine-boned face went a gray color to match the overcast sky outside.

“Have you had lovers?”

“That’s a damned personal question, Northfield.”

“I thought you wanted my help.” Damien spoke with equanimity and sipped his brandy.

“Fine… yes, then. There have been a few encounters.” Arthur shoved himself to his feet and roughly ran his fingers through his hair. “All were anonymous.… I belong to a small, discreet club, but we do not use our real names, nor do we reveal our faces.”

Damien thought privately that seemed vastly unfulfilling whether you preferred men or women, but kept that sentiment to himself. “How did you find this establishment?”