A Lady Never Surrenders Part 23

Tears welled in her eyes as he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. How could she have thought him cold and pa.s.sionless? He hid his feelings very well, but in times of great intensity, they shone bare upon his face. She was becoming more adept at reading them.

Right now she could easily read the desire in his eyes as he laid her on the bed and reached for the b.u.t.tons of his drawers. Then he hesitated. "Are you sure about this?"

She rose up on her elbow to unb.u.t.ton his drawers for him. "I'm very sure."

And clearly he was quite sure, for the minute she opened his drawers, his arousal burst out to surprise her with its thick, impressive rigidity.

Shortly after marrying, Minerva had explained exactly what happened in the bedchamber between a man and a woman, warning that a man's appendage could be rather daunting, and much different than those Celia had seen on horses and cows and hunting dogs.

Yes, it was different, but not really daunting. More like, oddly beautiful. Not to mention, fascinating in how it swayed a little as if buffeted by the wind.

"Ready for the rest?" he drawled, a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice.

"There's more?" When he shucked his drawers to reveal the ballocks hanging down, she said, "Oh. Of course. But I didn't expect them to be so hairy."

With a chuckle, he slid onto the bed beside her. "No more hairy than you are in the same place." And he put his hand right on her private part between her legs.

"Ohhhh," she said as she realized that their parts both mirrored and complemented each other's.

Then he began to rub her as she'd rubbed herself in bed, only much better, and everything went blank. "Jackson ... heavens ... Jackson ... Is this one of those wicked things ... you wanted to do with me?"

"Why?" His hand paused. "Does it bother you that I thought of touching you like this?"

"Certainly not. I thought of doing wicked things with you, too, you know. I imagined what it would be like to have you kissing me." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Caressing me exactly like this, between the legs..."

Desire flamed in his face as he resumed his stroking. "Did you?" He rubbed her harder. "Like this?"

She arched up against his hand. "Oh, yes. Definitely ... like that."

The devilish fellow smiled. "Where else did you imagine me touching you?"

"Oh, all over," she breathed.

"Perhaps here." He bent his head to suck her nipple, teasing it with his tongue until she gasped and threaded her fingers through his hair to hold him against her.

"Certainly there," she agreed as he lavished his attentions over first one breast, then the other.

Then he slid one finger inside her. "Or perhaps here," he murmured in his sinfully rough voice.

"My word!" she squeaked. "I never imagined that."

"I did," he said. "Plenty of times."

He dove deeply with his finger as his thumb moved in astonis.h.i.+ng ways against a part of her that was aching and eager for his touch. Her breath shuddered out of her, her body rising up to meet his wicked, wicked hand.

"Lord help me, I had ... no ... idea." She squirmed, wanting more of that delicious feeling and feeling guilty that he was caressing her while she did nothing to please him. "When you thought of ... wicked things ... we could do, were there any ... I could do to you?"

"h.e.l.l and blazes, yes." He shot her a heated glance, then took her hand and curled it around his aroused part. "Stroke me, sweeting." As she did so, his breath grew thick, heavy.

After only a few moments, he groaned, "Oh, G.o.d, stop ... stop! Perhaps you'd better restrict your touching to ... other parts of me."

"Didn't I do it right?" she whispered.

He uttered a harsh laugh. "Too well, I'm afraid. Some men need their pump primed, but mine has been primed for you so long..." He brushed a kiss over her breast. "Best not touch me there anymore, although you have free rein anywhere else."

After that, there were no words. He explored her; she explored him-his strong shoulders, his fine chest, the jaw she loved to kiss. She delighted in the feel of his flesh beneath her fingers, sinew and muscle dancing as he reacted to her touch. She adored that he couldn't hide how her caresses affected him. He was usually so controlled and hard to read. But she could read him here, in bed, and it made her heart soar.

So did the way he was caressing her, with firm, expert strokes, finding all the parts of her that yearned for him. She closed her eyes so she could relish every sensation, and soon she was breathing harder and harder, s.h.i.+mmying so wildly beneath his hand that she scarcely noticed he'd s.h.i.+fted to kneel between her legs until his hands drew her knees up and something bigger than a finger began easing up inside her.

Her eyes shot open. But just as she was feeling awkward and wondering if she looked as awkward as she felt, he murmured, "You're the most beautiful creature I ever beheld."

Instantly she relaxed. How did he always know the right thing to say? She ran her hands over his thick shoulders. "You're quite ... attractive yourself, sir," she said, to take her mind off the thick flesh pressing up inside her.

"Don't mock me," he bit out.

"I'm not!" Was it possible he wasn't as sure of himself as he always seemed? "You must know you're handsome. I always thought so."

When gratification showed on his face, she was glad she'd said it.

He forged deeper, eyes alight with fierce hunger. "And I always thought you a G.o.ddess."

She eyed him skeptically. "Even when I tried your patience?"

"You tried my patience?" he quipped.

"You know I did."

Halting in his press inward, he turned solemn. "I'm afraid I'm about to try your patience, most sorely."

She gazed up at him, touched beyond words that he was being so gentle with her. Pulling his head down to her, she pressed a kiss to his lips, then whispered, "Make me yours. I can endure anything to be yours."

The words seemed to startle him, then make him grow even harder inside her, if that were possible. "We'll see," he murmured.

She had no time to register that odd response before he took her mouth. As he kissed her deeply, thoroughly, he thrust equally deeply inside her.

The swift pain made her gasp against his lips, but he just kept kissing her as he held still, letting her adjust to the tightness and the discomfort and the strange experience of being so closely joined to a man she still barely knew.

After a few moments he began moving, slowly at first, as if feeling his way along. He stared down at her with a searing gaze that made her stomach flip over. "Are you ... all right?"

"Fine," she lied, though it still felt odd and uncomfortable to have him inside her. Fortunately, it was growing less so by the moment.

"I've imagined you like this ... many times ... naked, sharing my bed," he rasped, the fervent words warming her, making her relax. "You have no idea."

"I have some idea," she managed. "I imagined you, too."

He looked skeptical. "Like this?"

"Well, not exactly ... I didn't know ... what to expect." Or how shockingly intimate it would feel.

A lock of his dark hair fell over one eye, making him look more like a dangerous character and less like the formal Jackson she knew.

"And now that you do?" he asked.

"I like it." The motion had started to warm her below, to spark the same tingling she'd felt when he rubbed her. "It's like a very naughty waltz."

He choked out a laugh. "Yes. I lead. You follow."

You move between my legs.

Oh, so that's why people thought the waltz so scandalous! "I'll never be able to waltz again ... without thinking of this," she breathed.

He bent to whisper, "Then I'll have to claim you for the next waltz."

She liked that word, claim.

"And the next ... and the next..." He thrust more quickly into her and her tingling heightened, twisting into something hot and exciting and infinitely more thrilling than any waltz.

"Jackson ... ohhh, Jackson..."

"Every waltz ... from now ... until eternity."

"Yes..." She felt as if she were spiraling upward, like sparks dancing up from the fire into the chimney and out, and now she was soaring, rising with him into the cloudless climes and starry skies where all the beauty walked. ...

"Yes!" she cried as she reached that pinnacle. "Oh, yes, Jackson, yes ... I'm yours ... I'm yours ... yours..."

And with a fierce groan, he drove in deep and spent himself inside her. "As am I..." he whispered against her ear while he shuddered and shook over her. "Yours. Always."

Chapter Nineteen.

Hetty and Oliver were having a brandy in his study before the guests began trooping down for dinner when Minerva entered, leading Celia's very anxious-looking maid.

"You have to hear what Gillie just told me," Minerva said, pus.h.i.+ng the cowering maid forward. "I said she had to tell the two of you herself."

That roused Hetty's interest, since Celia had been conspicuously absent all day. "What is it, girl?"

When Gillie hesitated, Minerva said, "Celia does not have a headache. She has not been sleeping in her room all day with a dark cloth over her eyes."

Hetty burst into a laugh. "That is no surprise."

Gillie's gaze shot to Hetty's. "Beg your pardon, ma'am?"

"Come now, girl, I am no fool. I know your mistress cries 'headache' whenever she wants to shoot. I would have made her confess her subterfuge before now, but..." She let out a breath. "I grew tired of fighting her. I figured if I let her think she was fooling me, she might not be so stubborn about everything else."

"Well, I didn't know," Oliver said with a frown. "You could have told me."

"Would you have done anything about it?" Hetty asked.

"No, but-"

"She ain't come home, though," Gillie burst out.

Hetty's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? She's usually back long before dark."

"Aye, that's what's got me worried, Mrs. Plumtree." Gillie wrung her hands. "She left right after dawn, and that ain't like her, either. She enjoys her sleep, she does. Then for her to be gone all day and into the evening..."

"Not to mention," Minerva put in, "that Mr. Pinter has been missing all day."

"Not missing," Oliver said. "He went off to follow some lead just after-"

"Dawn?" Minerva lifted an eyebrow. "Did he happen to say where he was going?"

A roiling began in Hetty's belly. "No. Just that it had something to do with Lewis's and Pru's murders."

"I suspect it had more to do with Celia," Minerva retorted.

Hetty began to suspect the same thing.

"Why?" Oliver asked.

"Last night," Minerva said, "Celia confessed that she and Mr. Pinter-or, as she calls him, Jackson-have been spending more time together alone than any of us realized. Apparently, they've kissed a number of times."

Hetty scowled. Matters had gone that far between them? And right under her nose?

"Good show, Pinter," Oliver murmured.

"Oliver!" Hetty chided him.

"What? It's plain as day that the two fancy each other. Thank G.o.d, they're finally doing something about it. Pinter probably took matters into his own hands and carried her off for a picnic or a drive, since they haven't had many chances to be alone together these past few days, with her other suitors around."

"Are you saying you have no problem with your sister spending an entire day alone with a man doing G.o.d knows what?" Hetty snapped.

"It's called courting." Oliver eyed her askance. "Don't tell me you disapprove. You've been trying to get her to marry for years. She finally has a suitor she really seems to like, and I for one applaud her."

"What if marriage is not what he has in mind?" Hetty spat, annoyed that her grandson could just gloss over the fact that Celia might be out there engaging in naughty activities with the Bow Street Runner.

"Don't be ridiculous. Pinter is an honorable man. He wouldn't ruin her."

"I don't think he's trying to, anyway," Minerva said slyly. "I think they've eloped."

"What!" Hetty said. "Why would you think that?"