“Minerva,” he said, speaking her name like a promise of devotion. “Oh, God, Minerva.”

  She made a soft sound, a sigh of pleasure and it made him want to weep with gratitude, to worship her for everything she gave him. One hand slid from the coaxing path he teased up her thigh, his fingers sifting through the velvet curls between her legs as she stilled and gasped, a little anxious now.

  “I want to touch you,” he said, aware it sounded like pleading but unable to stop himself. “Please, love, let me touch you.”

  She nodded, her eyes dark and glassy with desire. That she looked that way for him seemed impossible, but she’d come to him, chosen him when she might have had anyone.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he promised. “I’d never hurt you.”

  “I know,” she said, her smile so sweet, so trusting, that his chest ached with the enormity of it.

  He buried his face against her neck, breathing in the scent of her, so familiar now and yet still so enthralling as his fingers slid between her thighs. A sound was torn from him as he sought and found the place where she burned for him, found her wet and so hot. His body throbbed so insistently he had to grit his teeth to keep from shattering. Inigo caressed her with slow, gentle strokes, reminding himself it was her he wanted to please. He wanted to give her a taste of what could be between them. Just a taste, he promised himself. He would not take everything, would not ruin her wholly, and not just because her cousin would ruin him if he did.

  Minerva sighed, restless under his touch, guiding his mouth back to her breasts. Inigo was only too happy to oblige her. He was enslaved, a prisoner to her will, but then he had been from the start, no matter how much it terrified him. No matter how hard he fought it, he had no strength to resist. When she opened her legs, allowing him more, he almost sobbed, his desire to be inside her was so great. Instead he moved back, pushing her skirts up to her hips, his breath catching at the sight of the soft, dark blonde curls between her thighs.

  “I-Inigo,” she said, her expression uncertain as he tore his gaze away to meet her eyes.

  “I… I need….” he began, trying to find the words when anything resembling a coherent thought had been burned from his brain. “Taste you… I want to taste….”

  Minerva’s mouth dropped open in shock and he feared he’d pushed too far, feared she would deny him.

  “You… you want to…?”

  She looked so puzzled by the idea it might have been amusing if he wasn’t so desperate.

  “Yes,” he said, the word rough with desire. “Yes, please. Oh, God, please, Minerva.”

  “It… it will feel… nice?” she asked, her cheeks scarlet.

  Inigo could not help the wolfish smile that curved over his mouth.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, his voice grave despite his triumph. “I swear it will be a great deal more than just nice. Let me show you. I swear I’ll stop if you want me to,” he added.

  Please don’t ask me to stop. Please, please don’t ask me to stop.

  Minerva swallowed hard and then nodded. “Yes, then.”

  He made a sound of satisfaction, leaning forward to kiss her mouth once, hard, before tugging her hips closer to the edge of the seat and holding her thighs open.

  “I don’t think you have the slightest idea how beautiful you are,” he said, aware of the reverent way he spoke, “or what you do to me. I want to know you, every part of you, every freckle,” he said, smiling and pressing a kiss to the place on her inner thigh were one such tiny speckle of colour patterned her perfect skin.

  Minerva gasped, her breathing coming faster as his lips moved inexorably closer, soft, open-mouthed kisses and the touch of his tongue inching towards their goal. At last he was there, his mouth watering as he tasted her.

  Minerva cried out, though it did not sound like a complaint, so he did it again, and again, his tongue seeking out and finding all the softest, most secret places. Her hands sank into his hair, holding him in place, and he grunted with satisfaction, wanting her to guide him, to show him how to please her best. He’d do anything to keep those delicate, wanton sounds ringing in his ears, making him burn. His only desire was to bring her everything she wanted. She was so perfect, so delicious, and he took his time, never wanting the moment to stop, savouring her and the erotic little sounds she made as she squirmed beneath him. He smiled, pleased beyond reason, holding her thighs apart, keeping her still so he could explore every decadent inch of her at his leisure. This was not something to rush and he kept his touch slow and caressing, coaxing her gently towards the height of pleasure and alight with joy at the honour she had given him. She trusted him with this, with her body, and that made something in his chest ache with need. His heart pounded harder as he noticed her breathing become erratic and realised she was close.

  Yes. Yes, please.

  Her hands clenched in his hair, so hard it hurt, and he willed her not to stop, to take everything she wanted as her body tightened beneath him.

  “Inigo,” she cried out, dazed and shocked as she bowed taut as the climax took her.

  It was too much, his triumph in her pleasure was too great, and he snatched at the fall of his trousers, freeing his cock and taking himself in hand. He barely even touched himself, shattering as she did, giddy with the sound of his name on her lips as she came for him. Oh God, oh God. Nothing had ever felt like this, and he hadn’t even been inside her. He eased her through her climax, gentling his touch so as not to overwhelm her sensitive flesh, but drawing every last shuddering wave from her body until she was boneless and pliant.

  Inigo sat back on his heels, shaken by the force of everything he felt, undone by the swell of tenderness that swept over him as he regarded the results of his attentions. Minerva sprawled in the chair, shameless and exposed to him, her eyes closed and her skin flushed, a slight smile curving her lush mouth. With hands that were far from steady, he found a handkerchief and cleaned himself up, buttoning his breeches once more, not wanting to shock her too badly. He stared down at her, terrified by the enormity of his emotions, knowing he could not let her leave his life now she’d insisted on making herself a place in it.

  Yet he didn’t know how, didn’t know… anything. His heart was slamming in his chest and he wanted to hold her, so he did, burying his face against her breasts, his arms going around her waist, holding her tight to him. He felt like a fool. She was the virgin, it was her first real sexual encounter; it was Minerva who ought to be seeking comfort, not him, but his world had tilted on its axis and he felt as if everything was suspended on the edge of a cliff.

  Don’t let me fall.

  “Oh, my,” she said, sighing with content, blissfully unaware of the turmoil she’d wrought.

  She stroked his hair and he closed his eyes, never wanting it to stop, never wanting her to leave.

  “That was….” She gave a soft huff of laughter. “You were right, it was so much more than nice. What an inadequate word.”

  It was inadequate for something that had broken his defences and left him the one exposed. How was it she had given so much and it was him who’d been made vulnerable. He’d been so certain it was merely lust for forbidden fruit, then he had prayed it had been only his desire driving him to want her… now though. When he’d told Solo about the first time Minerva had kissed him, his friend had asked if it had been a nice kiss. The only words Inigo had brought to mind had been apocalyptic, cataclysmic, and he’d been right. Abandon all hope ye who enter here, yet stupidly hope was the thing she’d given him back. She’d upended his beliefs about everything he wanted. He’d begun to question his motives, his morals, his entire outlook on life, which was appalling enough, but to dream of more, to believe in the fairy story he’d once known was a lie—to hope… It was the worst and most dreadful fate he could imagine, to be given a chance to hope once more, with no guarantee it wouldn’t be ripped from his grasp again and leave him broken beyond repair.

  He closed his mind to the future, to his fears, wanting only to revel in this moment in case it was all he would have. Her skin was like silk beneath his head and he nuzzled into her breasts, kissing them, wanting to stay like this forever. His mouth sought her nipple and sucked, teasing it back to a peak as Minerva sighed. He trailed kisses up over her collarbone, up her neck, wishing he had the time to take her to bed, and consigning her friends to the devil. They’d be back for her soon and he had no idea how he would look them in the eye, but he’d not think on that, not yet. Inigo found her mouth and kissed her, tender kisses that revealed too much that he needed to keep hidden, to guard something of himself, no matter how small and pitiful.

  She drew back, holding his face so she could look into his eyes and he almost turned away, not wanting her to see what she’d done.

  “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you love me?” she asked, a teasing note to her voice as she smiled at him.

  Oh, God.

  Inigo felt his heart kick in his chest, panic sending his pulse into an erratic dance. He could almost feel the colour leave his face. He shook his head, unable to answer, praying she would not insist on him putting a number on something he could not, dared not quantify in such a way.

  For a moment she studied him, too intently, as if she were peeling away the armoured layers he hid behind like tissue paper. Then she smiled, so gentle and understanding his throat tightened and the blood that had left him returned in a rush, making him blush like a scolded boy.

  “All right,” she said, pressing a kiss to his lips. “But you will have to tell me, eventually.”

  Later, he prayed. Much, much later, but he distracted her with kisses and his hands on her until he’d chased such questions from her mind.

  Chapter 11

  I’m sorry, Tilda, darling, but I think perhaps you have misinterpreted my reasons for marrying Gordy. I know I told you it was the sensible thing to do at the time. I made it appear that after six seasons I was desperate. Well, that was partly true, but not why I did it.

  I wanted him, Matilda. I’ve wanted nothing so much as I wanted him the first moment I laid eyes on him. I was motivated by desire, not good sense, so for heaven’s sake do not take my actions as a reason to do the sensible thing, because the last thing I was when I suggested Gordon marry me instead of Bonnie, was sensible.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Ruth Anderson to Miss Matilda Hunt.

  Still the 21st January 1815. Beverwyck. London.

  “Prue, really, stop pulling so hard. You will yank my arm from its socket,” Minerva grumbled as her cousin towed her up the stairs.

  She’d known it was coming. There had been no escaping it. Poor Inigo had looked so damn guilty he’d barely been able to meet Prue’s eye. Rather shockingly, Minerva hadn’t felt the least bit guilty. In fact her, overriding emotion was one of happiness bubbling up inside her, and a terribly smug smirk kept trying to escape by curving her lips up at the corners.

  Finally, they got to Prue’s bedroom, where Minerva was hustled inside, and the door closed behind them.

  “What happened?” Prue demanded, arms folded.

  Minerva’s eyebrows went up. “None of your business,” she retorted.

  Prue goggled at her. “None of…? Minerva, I allowed you to visit the bloody man on the understanding that you’d not do anything foolish.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t foolish,” Minerva said, giving a blissful sigh and sitting on the edge of Prue’s bed. “It was… it was marvellous.”

  “Oh, my lord!” Prue threw up her hands. “I will have him chopped up into little bits,” she said, surprisingly savage considering Prue was usually so level-headed.

  “For heaven’s sake, Prue.” Minerva shook her head. “He didn’t ruin me. I’m still… still….”

  “If you can’t say it, how can you be certain you are it?” Prue asked, scathing now. She folded her arms tighter, her cheeks glowing a little more brightly. “Do… Do you even know what…? Has Aunt Phyllis ever explained—”

  “Good heavens, no!” Minerva said, her mind rebelling against the idea of her Mama ever instigating such a conversation. “No, Harriet gave me this fascinating book….”

  Prue groaned.

  “And Bonnie filled in the gaps, so—”

  “Oh, heaven help me.”

  Her poor cousin looked so outraged that Minerva could only laugh. “Are you trying to pretend that you and Robert didn’t… well, you know, before you were married.”

  Prue’s cheeks coloured. “I’ll have you know I was a virgin on my wedding night.”

  She put up her chin, full of righteous indignation.

  Minerva just quirked an eyebrow at her and Prue huffed.

  “What I did or didn’t do is neither here nor there. Robert wanted to marry me and he’s a duke. What’s more, I didn’t need anyone’s permission or good opinion. Even if this man feels strongly enough to want to marry you, what exactly are you going to do about your mother? You’re not yet one and twenty, I might remind you. She can still forbid the match.”

  “Only until July,” Minerva muttered, tracing the ivy pattern on the counterpane with a fingertip, well aware that Prue was right.

  Inigo had told her from the start he had no intention of marrying her. He didn’t believe in love or marriage, or even monogamy. She was risking everything for a man who’d warned her repeatedly that he’d never be what she wanted him to be. The realisation burst the happy little bubble she’d been floating in, and she fell back to earth with too much force.

  Minerva blinked, her eyes burning, and then she remembered the moments after he’d made her feel… feel like she was flying. She’d never known such pleasure was possible, even though Bonnie had been quite vocal on the subject. Better than even the heights he’d taken her to, though, had been the way he’d held her afterwards. It had meant something to him too, she knew it. He’d not wanted to answer her question, either, though she knew that was likely because he’d not wanted to hurt her at such a time by telling her nothing had changed. Her heart sank. At the time she’d thought… she’d hoped… but now, now that the heat of their passion had faded and she was not with him, it seemed a lot less certain than it had that he would ever really care for her.

  She looked up to discover Prue had crouched down before her and was holding her hands.

  “Min, I just want your happiness. You know that, don’t you?”

  Minerva nodded.

  “Have you really thought about it? I mean, assuming for a moment that he offers to marry you. Have you thought about what your life will be like? Once upon a time you had your heart set on marrying a duke and—”

  Prue held up a hand to stop her as she opened her mouth to object.

  “And whilst I know that was to please Aunt Phyllis, you must admit you have expensive tastes. You like pretty gowns and jewels and going to balls, and all the things you enjoy now. Those things cost a great deal of money, love. Don’t you remember how you hated economising before I married Robert? The way you would sigh over all the things you couldn’t afford. If you marry this man, that may well be the way you live for the rest of your life. He’s not a gentleman. He’ll not be invited to all the parties you attend now, and he won’t be able to buy you the things you want. I know that it seems mercenary to point this out, but you must have your eyes wide open, Min. After the honeymoon is over, your love will need to be strong enough that those things don’t signify.”

  Minerva blinked hard, unable to stop the tears from falling as she made a small sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “It is, though, Prue. I love him. I love him so much and I… I’m frightened he won’t ask me. I’m frightened he doesn’t feel the same.”

  “Oh, love.”

  Prue sat on the bed beside her and gathered her up, hugging her tightly as Minerva held on and prayed she hadn’t put her faith in a man who wouldn’t ever reciprocate her feelings.

  ***

  22nd January 1815. Church Street, Isleworth, London.

  Inigo jolted. Something was banging inside his head. He groaned and raised a shaky hand to his temple. It felt like a bloody brass band marching back and forth across his brain. The pounding came again, and this time he opened his eyes, finding them settling on a wooden rack filled with boiling tubes. Huh? He blinked, trying to focus, utterly disorientated.

  His stomach roiled and his head throbbed as he peeled his face from his work bench. Hell and the devil. He’d drunk himself into a stupor in his lab and not even made it to bed. The pounding came again, this time accompanied by someone cursing his name.

  “Inigo, damn you. Let me in, I’m getting soaked out here.”

  Inigo groaned as he realised it was his front door that was being assaulted, and Solo was quite capable of breaking the bloody thing down if he got mad enough.

  “Coming,” he muttered, staggering towards the door.

  Somehow, he slid back the bolt and opened it, almost staggering back as the daylight seared his eyes and burned his brain.

  “Christ,” Solo said, curling a lip at the sight of him. “What happened? Did something explode?”

  “Only my brain,” Inigo said with a groan, trying and failing to close the door without making a sound.

  Solo snorted and took off his greatcoat, which was dripping rivulets of water onto the wooden floor.

  “Hell, man. It’s bloody freezing in here. Can’t you at least domesticate yourself enough to light a fire? I suppose it’s too much to ask if there’s any coffee?”

  “It is,” Inigo agree, following Solo out to the kitchen. “But feel free to make some if you can find it.”

  Inigo ignored the muttering and cursing and only winced as Solo moved about the kitchen. His friend coaxed the stove back to life and had coffee brewing in short order. For a man with money and a title he was remarkably self-sufficient, but Inigo supposed life in the army did that. It had also given him a bullet which had almost cost him his leg, and Inigo could tell the cold, wet weather was bothering him as his limp was more pronounced than usual.

 

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