He reached out a tentative hand, feeling like the grubby orphan boy he’d been, one who’d broken into an exclusive gallery, about to lay his dirty fingers on some priceless work of art. Her skin was so warm, so fine, and he could not stop the soft exclamation that left him, betraying his wonder at the liberty she was allowing him. He traced the curve of her hip with a fingertip, intrigued as she shivered beneath his touch. Retracing the same path, he moved up towards her breast, outlining the full curve before circling the pink bud of her nipple, furled tightly now as she shivered again.

  “Take your hair down,” he said, watching as she moved to obey him, her slender fingers seeking out each pin until her blonde hair fell about her shoulders in a tumble of shiny curls.

  “So strange,” he said, reaching to touch one silky curl, tugging it and watching it spring back with rapt attention.

  “What is?” she asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice, wondering at it, at her simple happiness when it didn’t seem the least bit simple to him.

  “It hurts to look at you,” he admitted, wondering too late if he ought to have told her that, if it gave too much away, but he was too perplexed not to ponder why that was.

  He looked back at her to see her eyes were glittering, as though she might cry. He scowled, not wanting her to cry, but realising she wasn’t the least bit unhappy as she blinked, and a smile curved her beautiful mouth.

  “Where does it hurt?” she asked.

  He lifted her hand and placed it against his chest, over his heart.

  “Here?” she asked.

  Inigo nodded, smiling in return, because it was impossible not to.

  “Me too,” she whispered, laughing a little as a tear slid down her cheek.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, the ache intensifying despite her smile, despite the delight in her laughter.

  “I can’t help it,” she said, the words filled with amusement. “I’m so happy I feel like I might burst.”

  Inigo took a deep breath, testing the way the ache intensified as he inhaled, as though it was a physical reaction, not just emotion. He put his hands to her face again, smoothing the tear away with his thumb and then leaning in to kiss her, once, softly, before drawing back, watching as his hands slid over her, down the elegant length of her neck, over her shoulders, smoothing over the tender curve of her breasts, her tiny waist, to her hips. He fell to his knees then, feeling it only right, one ought to worship a goddess on one’s knees. Minerva, goddess of wisdom. The gentle swell of her stomach beckoned him, and he pressed a kiss against it, closing his eyes as his palms moved down her hips. Her breathing hitched, and he continued to press kisses over her skin as he explored, reaching around to cup her behind.

  “So perfect,” he murmured against her belly. “So beautiful.”

  She stroked his hair and he sighed, lost in the pleasure of being with her. It all seemed so difficult, so complicated if he stopped to think about it, but if he didn’t think, if he just let it happen…. It was so easy.

  He looked up at her, caught in her eyes all over again, the strangest sensation sweeping over him, like drowning in an ocean of Prussian blue, and doing it on purpose, willingly. Turning his attention back to the lush body before him, he trailed a finger through the silky dark gold curls at the apex of her thighs.

  “I think you liked it when I kissed you here,” he said.

  She gave a little huff of laughter.

  “You only think so?” she queried, her amusement obvious. “Goodness. Whatever do I need to do to convince you?”

  “Ask me to do it again,” he suggested, grinning now as she flushed, the colour staining her lovely skin from her cheeks to her breasts.

  “Wicked man,” she murmured, tugging at his hair. “You’re just trying to make me blush.”

  “Not just trying.” He chuckled as she pressed her hands to her cheeks.

  Inigo moved closer to the sweet nest of curls, never taking his eyes from her as he pressed a kiss to her most delicate skin. He moved back again, raising one eyebrow.

  “Oh,” she said on a sigh.

  Biting back a smile he moved in again, this time touching her with his tongue, a barely there caress that had her clutching at his hair again.

  “Oh, yes, do it again,” she said, breathless and demanding all at once.

  A thrill of desire shot through him and he did as she asked, teasing her gently as her breathing picked up speed. With a devilish glint in his eyes, he stopped again, loving the outrage in her expression.

  “What?” he asked, all innocence.

  “Inigo!” There was a whiny quality to his name, and he laughed.

  “What, love? What do you want me to do?”

  “Do it again,” she murmured, glaring at him a little.

  “Do what again?”

  “Oh, you’re wicked!” she exclaimed, burying her face in her hands.

  “Do what again, Minerva?”

  “Kiss me,” she demanded, still hiding behind her hands, the words muffled.

  “Where?”

  She peered through her fingers at him, her eyes narrowed. “You know where,” she said, and then huffed as he didn’t move.

  She slid one hand down, between her legs and Inigo watched its progress with his lungs locked down tight, he couldn’t breathe, desire a white hot shimmer under his skin.

  “Here,” she said, parting the curls for him.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned, leaning in again and tasting heaven as she sighed with relief.

  He eased her legs farther apart as her hand sank into his hair and his tongue slid between her soft folds to find the sensitive bud hidden within.

  “Inigo!” she exclaimed, clutching at his hair again, hard now as he gave a villainous chuckle and carried on tormenting her, delighting in the erotic sounds she made, and in the decadent taste of her.

  “This,” he murmured, nuzzling her inner thigh, “is the sweetest thing I have ever tasted.”

  “Better than cake?” she asked, a dreamy note to her voice that pleased him immensely.

  “Better than cake,” he agreed, unable to keep the smile from his face. “Better than strawberry jam or anything else you might have packed in that basket you keep filling for me. This is my feast, the thing I hunger for.”

  He returned to the sweet task of tormenting her, sliding his fingers over her slick skin and pushing one inside her.

  “Inigo,” she cried, swaying so that he had to put his arm about her, steadying her. “I… I can’t stand… I can’t… like this.”

  Inigo got up at once, picking her up in one swift movement and carrying her to the bed. He put her down, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of her there, in his bed, and allowing the primitive, possessive sensation that rose in his chest to savour the moment.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said, plucking fretfully at his shirt. “Take them off.”

  “You’re very autocratic,” he remarked, still grinning like a fool as he tugged his shirt over his head.

  He felt ridiculously happy, as though there was champagne flowing in his veins, bubbling up inside him, opium filling his head and his lungs, intoxicating him until this all seemed like some wonderful, mad dream. Too perfect to be real, to be anything it was possible to hold on to, though he was damn well going to try.

  “I think you like it,” she observed, making him realise she was a deal more perceptive than perhaps he’d given her credit for.

  “I do,” he admitted. “I like it when you tell me what you want from me, when you instruct me how to give you pleasure. I like giving it to you even more.”

  She gasped at that, covering her mouth with her hand. “The things you say.”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” he said, undoing the buttons on the fall of his trousers. Her gaze fell to where his hands worked and his cock twitched in anticipation, the heat in her eyes making him want everything all at once and yet to take his time too, to savour every moment.

  “How long do we have?” he asked, knowing it would not be enough time, no matter how long it was.

  “All day, until six,” she said, glancing up at him before returning her gaze to where his hands lingered at the buttons on his trousers.

  “Thank God.” He sighed and pushed the trousers down his hips, leaving them where they fell as he stepped out of them and towards the bed, towards the heated look in her eyes.

  Minerva had turned onto her side and was staring at him in wonder.

  “You’re much bigger than I realised.”

  Inigo gave an inelegant snort at that and Minerva flushed scarlet.

  “No, I… I didn’t mean that,” she said, a little indignant. “I meant… all over. Your clothes always look a little too big, as though you’ve lost weight, and so I never… I never realised. My… what broad shoulders you have.”

  “I can’t help but feel that sentence ought to end with Mr Wolf,” he said, feeling every bit as wicked as Little Red Riding Hood’s hungry villain.

  Minerva giggled, and the sound pleased him so much he wanted to make her do it again. He climbed onto the bed, stalking his way up the mattress to her.

  “My, what big eyes you have,” Minerva said, as Inigo loomed over her.

  “All the better to see you with,” he growled, sweeping her with a lascivious look as his body tightened with need.

  She laughed again, just as he’d wanted her to, and he revelled in it, in her attention, her pleasure in him.

  “My, what big hands you have,” she murmured, as he palmed her breasts, squeezing and caressing them, tweaking the sensitive peaks of her nipples as she moaned and shifted beneath him.

  “All the better to embrace you with,” he replied, keeping to his role, though he could barely speak a coherent word when he wanted to taste her again so badly.

  “My,” she gasped, as his hands slid lower, parting her thighs. “What a big mouth you have.”

  Inigo returned a wolfish grin. “All the better to eat you with.”

  She let out a little cry as he returned his mouth to where she so obviously wanted it and gloried in the way she writhed beneath him.

  “I could do this all day,” he said, nipping at her thigh as she trembled beneath him.

  “Oh… Oh, I’ll die,” she gasped, shaking her head from side to side, laughing and pleading with him at once. “Please, Inigo, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

  “As if I would do such a heartless thing,” he said, more than content to return to his task, holding himself in check with difficulty as she sighed and moaned with increasing fervour.

  By the time she reached her climax, he was beside himself with impatience. The need to take his own pleasure inside her left him half mad, deranged with desire. Her body quivered still, pliant and soft as he moved over her, finding his place between her thighs as she reached for him. He stared down at her in wonder, at the hazy, drugged light in her eyes as she smiled up at him.

  “I need you,” he said, his voice rough, the ability to speak lost as he pushed a little inside her. Oh God. “I’m sorry… I can’t… I have to….”

  She got no more warning as he sank into her with one deep thrust, his own guttural moan of pleasure drowning out her little cry of pain. Immediately contrite, he gathered her to him.

  “Sorry,” he begged, kissing her throat, her jawline, and stroking her hair. “I’m sorry.”

  Minerva let out an unsteady breath, staring up at him.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said, that sweet smile that had the power to turn his world upside down making his throat tight with emotion, with the enormity of everything she was giving him, trusting him with. “Inigo?”

  “Yes?” he said, praying she wouldn’t ask him to stop, to tell him she’d changed her mind, forcing the word out though he was beyond conversation, beyond the need to do anything but move inside of her.

  “Ten,” she said, stroking his face with such tenderness he could not possibly form a reply.

  Instead, he buried his face into the curve of her neck and moved. The pleasure was so intense he couldn’t breathe. He gave himself over to sensation, to the rightness of being with her, knowing it would never be like this with anyone else.

  “Oh, God, Minerva, Minerva, my love….”

  He had no idea what he was saying, but could not stop the words from coming as the intensity of feeling overwhelmed him. He was aware of her lips on his, of her own murmured promises and declarations, and of her hands caressing his skin, holding tightly onto him.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said, the words raw and too honest in the heat of passion as everything whited out, replaced by a climax so intense he could do nothing but ride it, crying out as he came, spilling inside her with such force he felt exposed and ragged and horribly defenceless until he dared to open his eyes and look at her.

  Minerva was staring at him, breathing hard, and then she buried her face against his chest and burst into tears.

  Chapter 14

  Mr Knight,

  I should be interested to hear more of your plans.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from His Grace, The Duke of Bedwin to Mr Gabriel Knight.

  23rd January 1815. Church Street, Isleworth, London.

  “Minerva!” Inigo held her to him, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead, her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding wretched. “I’m so sorry. Did… Did I hurt you? Do you regret it? I’m so sorry, love, tell me what I can do….”

  Minerva shook her head, trying to control herself and finding her heart overflowing as she looked into Inigo’s stricken face. She made an unsteady sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

  “I’m n-not crying,” she managed though, as there were tears streaming down her face, he could be forgiven for looking perplexed. “At least, I a-am c-crying, but only because I’m so… so…. happy,” she wailed, and then buried her face against his chest again, laughing and hiccoughing and still crying like a madwoman, and good heavens, if this didn’t put him off her for life, she didn’t know what would.

  With a supreme effort, she took herself in hand, drew in several deep breaths, and wiped her face on the bedsheet.

  “It’s all right,” she said, sounding a little less hysterical, though Inigo still looked shocked and uneasy.

  She took another deep breath and let it out before biting her lip and trying not to laugh. Inigo was staring at her, so bewildered it was adorable.

  “You did nothing wrong,” she said again, calmer now as she stroked his face.

  “Are you certain?” he asked, looking unconvinced. “I didn’t hurt you? I know I’m a selfish bastard, I ought never….”

  She silenced him before he could finish that sentence by the simple expedient of pressing her mouth to his. Just as she’d hoped, he returned the kiss, and she sighed, delighted to discover how tender he could be.

  “It was wonderful,” she said, letting out a contented sigh as he shifted onto his back and drew her against him. Minerva cuddled into his side, perfectly content. He held her close and she rested her head on his shoulder. “So wonderful that it… it was a little overwhelming. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  He was silent for a long moment before he spoke.

  “It was wonderful,” he said. “And overwhelming.”

  There was something in his voice that told her he meant that, and Minerva closed her eyes, happier than she could have believed possible.

  “I’m so sleepy,” she said, smiling, still a little dazed by everything that had happened.

  “Sleep, then,” he said, turning to kiss her forehead.

  “But I don’t want to miss being with you,” she said, though the effort of keeping her eyes open was becoming harder.

  “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he urged, his hand stroking up and down her back, a soothing movement that was perfectly blissful. “I won’t let you sleep all afternoon, I promise.”

  “Oh, very well then,” she murmured, and fell promptly asleep.

  ***

  Minerva awoke to the pattering of rain on glass, the room bathed in shadowy grey as the weather had closed in, stealing any light from the afternoon. She looked up to find Inigo watching her, and smiled.

  “Good afternoon, Mr de Beauvoir,” she said, feeling silly and happy and rather wonderful.

  “Mr de Beauvoir?” he repeated, one eyebrow raised. “Isn’t that a little formal in the circumstances, Miss Butler?”

  She laughed, reaching up to trace the shape of his lips. “Kiss me.”

  He obliged at once, a deep, languorous kiss that she felt all the way to her toes. She sighed as he lifted his head, his eyes darker than ever as he regarded her.

  “Have you been watching me sleep?” she asked, finding her mouth curving at the idea.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s fascinating.”

  Minerva blushed, wondering if such scrutiny was a good idea. “Heavens, did I do anything embarrassing? Oh, please don’t tell me I snore,” she exclaimed, horrified by the idea.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. You sleep very neatly, with pretty little sighs and an enigmatic smile at your lips. I’m desperate to know what you were dreaming about.”

  She grinned at that, running a hand over his chest and tangling her fingers in the coarse hair there, following the trail down a little way as his stomach twitched and jumped beneath her touch.

  “Ticklish?” she asked, delighted by her discovery.

  Inigo snatched her hand away. “Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

  “Ah, but I already have my answer,” she teased him.

  “Tell me,” he murmured, nuzzling into her neck and nipping her skin.

  “Why, I was dreaming of you, of course,” she said, sighing as he kissed a path up to her mouth.

  “Is that why you looked so happy?”

  There was something in the question that she couldn’t read, but she answered him honestly, watching his face as he looked down at her.

  “Yes.”

  Inigo closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

 

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