.jpg)
“We are permitted to spoil our dinner, as well,” Westhaven said. “Grab the pitcher, the sugar bowl, and two glasses.”
Dev did as bid and followed his brother back onto the shady back terrace. Westhaven poured them both a tall glass of lemonade, adding liberal amounts of sugar to his own.
“I haven’t had lemonade since I was a lad,” Dev remarked when he’d chugged half of his. “It refreshes.”
“Tastes better with extra sugar. Val adds cold tea to his. Try mine.”
“As I have had the chicken pox,” Dev said, sipping from Westhaven’s glass. “Give me that sugar bowl.”
They passed an amiable evening, chatting over dinner about the marriage prospects for their sisters, the house party at Morelands, and the state of British government in general.
When the earl was alone in the library at the end of the evening, he found himself wondering why he hadn’t offered his brothers the use of the townhouse earlier. It would have allowed them both to be near their sisters without residing at the ducal mansion, and it would have provided some company.
Anna had been company out at Welbourne, but in the week since their return, she’d faded back into the role of invisible housekeeper. When he walked into a room, she left. When he sat down to a meal, she was nowhere to be found. When he retired to his rooms, she’d been through earlier, cleaning and tidying then disappearing.
The door clicked softly, and as if he’d conjured her with his thoughts, Anna padded in on bare feet, clad only in her night rail and wrapper.
“Anna.” He rose, and she watched as he took in her dishabille.
“My lord,” she said and earned a thunderous scowl from him as he stalked over to her.
“What have I done, Anna, to earn your use of my title?”
“I cannot be sure we are private,” she said then blinked at her tactical error. “And I do not believe such familiarity wise.”
“Ah.” He backed away, leaning on the desk, arms crossed. “Shall we discuss this change of heart on your part? You’ve been avoiding me since we got back to Town, and don’t think to tell me otherwise.”
“You are no longer ill,” she said, raising her chin. “And you are capable of dressing yourself.”
“Barely,” he said with a snort. “So tell me, how am I to court you if you won’t stay in the same room with me? How am I to persuade you to marry me if you maneuver always to have others present when I am about? You aren’t playing fair, Anna.”
She watched him warily, trying to formulate an answer that wouldn’t aggravate him further. If she’d known he was in here, lurking in the solitude and darkness, she would have run in the opposite direction—she hoped.
“Come here.” He gentled his tone and held out a hand.
“You will take liberties,” Anna said, crossing her arms. “And you know I do not encourage your courting. I warned you your efforts would be for naught.”
The difficulty, Anna silently admitted, was that she had made no efforts of her own, efforts to secure yet another position, another identity, another escape route. Like one of her grandfather’s fat, wooly sheep, she’d just gone about her tasks, cutting flowers, airing sheets, and telling herself soon she would press his lordship for that character, soon she would explain the situation to Morgan, soon she would make inquiries at some different agencies.
A week had gone by, and she’d accomplished nothing, except another seven days of longing for a man she had no business desiring.
“You will make me work for it, won’t you?” Westhaven said with a faint smile. He pushed away from the desk and approached her silently. “That’s as it should be.”
His arms closed around her, and Anna just bowed her head, knowing even more than his kisses and his wicked caresses, the comfort of his embrace had the power to paralyze her. He was warm, vital, and strong, and while it wasn’t his aim to protect her, the illusion that he could was irresistible.
“Let me hold you,” he whispered, “or I’ll have a relapse of the chicken pox to inspire you to closer attendance of me.”
“You can’t have a relapse.”
“Actually, I can,” he murmured, his hands easing over her back, “but Fairly says it’s quite rare. Relax, Anna, I just want to feel you in my arms, hmm?”
She couldn’t remain tense, not with his big hands stroking so knowingly over her muscles and bones. He touched her the way he might touch a horse, listening with his hands for what her body would tell him without her mind’s consent.
“You need to eat more,” he said. “You’ve put weight on me but neglected yourself.”
“You lost weight, being ill,” Anna corrected him, her voice sleepier than she’d intended it. “And you have to stop this.”
“Why is that?” She felt his lips against her temple, and leaned into him a little more heavily.
“Because, I like it too well, and then you’ll be kissing me and your hands will be wandering and I will want to let them wander.”
“Good,” the earl said, humor in his voice and something else. Something not quite as relaxed as his hands might have suggested. “I do want to kiss you. Have for days, but you’ve been dodgy as a feral cat.” His lips brushed her cheek, and Anna felt her meager defenses crumbling.
“You must not,” she said, cuddling into his chest as if he could protect her from his own wayward intentions.
“I rather think I must,” he argued softly. “I have never met a lady so in want of kissing.” Those lips were moving along her jaw now, then teasing at her neck. Oh, the wretched, wretched man… Anna let her head fall to the side, vowing she would do better next time. She wouldn’t let him get past the first embrace. But for now…
She was wicked. Her brother had told her she was headstrong, unnatural, and ungrateful, and all that added up to wickedness. She should not be misleading the earl like this, should not be giving him ideas, should not be enjoying giving him ideas. But he touched her, and all the loneliness and worry and fear went away, taking her honor and common sense with them, leaving her melting and trusting and entirely too willing.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, his teeth scraping gently at her skin. “Don’t think, just let me bring you pleasure, bring us both pleasure.”
“Westhaven…” she whispered, trying still to end this, to put him firmly in his place. He’d told her he would never force her; that he would stop if she asked it of him.
She could not ask it of herself, Anna thought despairingly as the earl’s lips settled softly over hers.
She tried to hold back, to keep herself aloof from his caresses and his kisses, but she had no experience with sexual self-restraint. Her hands crept up to caress his neck and jaw, her body pressed into his with shameless disregard for anything save the need to be closer, and her mouth parted on a sigh.
“Oh, not this…” She broke the kiss when he began to rock his hips against her but stayed in his arms, her forehead resting on his sternum. “You are interested, and soon you will be indecent with me again.”
“I would love to be indecent with you, Anna.”
“I cannot allow it,” she wailed. “You do not understand all of my circumstances, Westhaven. This is nothing but folly. We must stop.”
“Soon,” he assured her. “Your virtue is not at risk, Anna. Not tonight. Just let me pleasure you.”
“You want to be indecent,” she accused again, gripping his waist tightly.
“Unless you ask it of me, I will not remove my clothing,” he replied, his voice steadier than hers.
“Do you promise? You won’t even unfasten your trousers?” She lifted her face to regard him by the light of the fire.
“I will not unfasten my trousers,” he replied, his gaze rock steady with maybe a touch of humor in his green eyes. “Let me hold you and kiss you and bring you pleasure.”
If he kept his pants up, Anna reasoned, she wouldn’t be so tempted to wantonness, wouldn’t be tempted to touch him, to explore his intriguingly hard and yet delicately smooth
male member with her fingers… and lips and tongue. If he kept his pants up, she could manage to keep her own wits about her.
She leaned up and kissed him, only to find herself lifted in his arms, turned, and deposited on the corner of his huge desk.
“Here.” He dragged over a chair and a hassock, the better to support her dangling feet. “If you need to hold on to something, hold on to me.”
Hold on, she did, as his lips settled over hers with unmistakable purpose. His tongue was in her mouth, thrusting in the same lazy rhythm as his hips were pushing against her sex. He wedged himself more tightly between her legs, and Anna felt something hot and needy wake up below the pit of her stomach. One of his arms stayed anchored around her back, but his free hand was wandering, stealing around her waist, leaving heat and wanting in its wake.
“Touch me, Anna.” Westhaven’s voice was a rough whisper, insistent and seductive. “Touch me however it pleases you.”
It pleased her to slide her hands over his chest, but the fine linen of his shirt wasn’t the goal she sought. Without taking her mouth from his, Anna tugged his shirttails free and slid a hand along his ribs, the feel of his warm skin bringing her some unnameable sense of relief.
“Don’t stop,” he urged, as she lifted his shirt free, all the way around his waist, and further gratified herself with the smooth, muscular planes of his back beneath her other hand. To touch him like this, skin to skin, at once soothed and aroused. She needed to touch him and couldn’t get enough of his skin beneath her hands.
“Jesus,” Westhaven hissed when Anna found his nipple. She paused, and he nipped at her neck, “Jesus, that feels good.” He shifted the angle of his hips, and Anna gasped, the sensation resulting from his rigid flesh against her sex sending a bolt of pure, hot desire skittering through her vitals.
“I like it, too,” he murmured, repeating the move but making no effort to open his falls. “Spread your legs, love. I’ll make it feel even better.”
When she grasped the meaning of his words, she complied, her own hands greedily learning the contour and sensitivities of his chest and neck and abdomen. She wanted to put her mouth on him, but his damned shirt…
“Shirt off,” she got out before drawing his tongue strongly into her mouth. She was growing frantic, but for what, she could not have said. For more, she thought. Please, almighty God, for more. They broke apart for a mere instant while Westhaven whipped the shirt over his head then plunged himself tongue-deep back into their kiss.
His hands shifted from her back to bunch the soft billows of her night rail and wrapper up in her lap.
Good, Anna thought, wanting only to be closer to him. And when Westhaven wedged himself between her legs again, she could only pull him closer, hoping he would again find that spot, that one place where the weight and thrust of his rigid length brought her such startling pleasure.
“Use me,” he growled. “Let yourself come.” Anna could not puzzle out the sense of his words but rocked her hips against him, seeking the same fit they’d found earlier.
“I can’t find…” she panted, trying to form words as Westhaven’s hand slipped lower and lower.
“I can,” he whispered, his fingers slipping over her intimate folds. His touch was infernally knowing, light, and teasing, maddening. Then he shifted the angle of his hand, so his thumb was pressing, right there, and he gave her a hint of relief with the tip of his finger inside her body.
“Westhaven,” she panted, “…dear God, what are you…?”
But his free hand had parted her night clothes enough to find a nipple and apply a gentle, pulsing pressure to it. That was all it took, just the start of attention to a breast, a bit of his finger, some pressure from his thumb, and her body seized in great, clutching spasms of pleasure.
She came silently, her body bucking against him for long fraught moments in complete abandon. When it was over, she hung limp and winded against him, shuddering as aftershocks wracked her, her cheek pressed over his heart.
Westhaven wanted nothing more than to plunge his raging erection into her wet heat and thrust like a mad bull, but his instincts suggested the moment wasn’t right. There had been too much ignorance in Anna’s responses, too little ability to anticipate and manage her own reactions.
Too much innocence.
So he held her to his chest and stroked her hair, and tried to pay attention to her and not to the indignant clamoring of his impatient cock.
“I cannot fathom what just passed between us,” she whispered.
“Has no one seen to your pleasure?” Westhaven kissed her temple, unable to stifle the smile in his voice. She might not be a virgin fresh from the schoolroom, but it pleased him to think he was the first to bring this to her. A husband exercised his rights, but a lover pleasured.
“Pleasure,” she echoed his thought, sounding inebriated. “Profound pleasure.”
“I hope so,” the earl rumbled. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He brushed her hair back over her ear, and regarded her carefully. The disorientation on her face, coupled with the trusting, boneless weight of her in his arms caused a spike of profound affection for her to spread out from the center of his chest.
“I would like a little of the same for myself,” he whispered, arms going more tightly around her. “You will oblige me?”
“Oblige?” Anna’s brain had clearly slipped its leash, and Westhaven was hard put not to gloat.
“Let me come against you,” the earl urged, his voice intimate with anticipated pleasure. “The couch will do.” Hearing no objection, he hoisted her from the desk and laid her down on the long sofa.
“Lovely,” he whispered, coming down on top of her.
On top of her, thank Christ, he was at long last on top of her.
He blanketed her there on the couch, for the first time laying his half-naked body over hers, though he was careful with his weight. His lips found hers, his hand strayed to her breast, and he thought he heard her sigh “lovely” as she lifted up her hips, trying to stroke herself against him again.
“Easy,” he murmured, nipping at her earlobe. “I promised not to remove my own clothing unless at your request; you will have to oblige.”
Or, he reasoned, he could come in his knickers like the schoolboy he’d once been. But Anna was tugging at his falls and gently extracting his cock from his clothing.
“Much better,” he breathed, feeling himself grow more aroused now that he was free of his clothing.
He took his time, though it had been a long, frustrating week, apparently for them both. There was a hint of revenge in the languor with which he went about this loving. He kept his kisses slow and sweet, and he only gradually let her have the full weight of his hips, snugging his cock low against her belly. But Anna took a little revenge of her own, as her hands were free to roam his back, his chest, into his hair, over his features. He groaned quietly when she found his nipples then less quietly when she fastened her mouth on one and her fingers on the other.
“Oh, love, I can’t… Jesus, Anna…”
She eased off but didn’t desist completely, and then he felt her tilt her hips, the better to trap him against her. Her arms urged him to rest on her more fully.
“I like it,” she whispered, kissing his cheek. “I like your weight on me, like you being around me, above me.”
Encouraged by the rasp in her voice as much as her words, he began to thrust with more purpose, firmly putting aside the temptation to shift his hips and hilt himself in the wet heat of her. Her tongue found his nipple again, but this time he arched his back to make the angle easier for her.
“Your mouth, Anna,” he rasped, “please… God in heaven.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, suckled at him, and clamped her hand tightly on his buttocks as he thrust hard against her. When the warmth of his seed coursed onto her stomach, she held him all the more closely, until he levered up on his elbows and stared down at her in the firelight.
He lasted only a
moment, suspended above her, before she slipped a hand around his nape and urged him back down against her. He capitulated to her silent request and was soon breathing in counterpoint with her, as naturally as if they’d made love every night for years. She traced patterns on his back, sifted her hands through his hair, and took his earlobe in her mouth for the occasional nip.
“One of us,” the earl said, “is going to have to get up. I nominate you.”
“Happy to serve,” Anna murmured drowsily. “But can’t fit it onto the schedule just at the moment.”
“Suppose that leaves me.” The earl sighed and heaved up, first onto straight arms then to his feet. His stood above her, brooding down at her half-naked, utterly relaxed sprawl so long she self-consciously moved to close her legs.
“Don’t,” he said, but it was a request, for all he didn’t state it as such. “Please. You are lovely.” But he moved away, sensing her defenses were weak, and she needed a moment. When he turned back to her, he’d pulled up his breeches but not buttoned them. To his shamelessly primitive delight, she’d not covered herself, not sat up, nor in any way disturbed the wanton pose in which he’d left her.
“Let me.” The earl sat down at her hip and began to dab gently at her with his dampened handkerchief. He made a sensual game out of it, stroking the cool cloth over her stomach, up under her breasts, and down to her sex. When she shifted her dressing gown, likely thinking to afford herself some small modesty, he applied a gentle pressure to the inside of her thigh.
“Let me,” he repeated. He held the cloth against her, and Anna closed her eyes, her blush evident even by firelight.
“Anna Seaton.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over her heart. “The pleasures you and I could share…” He said no more, feeling strangely off balance by their encounter. He set aside the cloth, pushed the halves of her clothing even farther to the side, and climbed over her again.
He wasn’t ready to bounce up and take himself upstairs to bed, wasn’t ready to dive back into the last few pieces of correspondence, wasn’t ready to pour himself a brandy and take it up to his balcony. Completely out of character for him, all he wanted to do was stay here with Anna, holding her and being held by her.