Everything I Ever Wanted, page 29
Emboldened now by South's hoarsely whispered encouragement, India wriggled out from under him and pressed him onto his back. He helped her raise the hem of her voluminous nightgown as she rose to her knees. It bunched around her hips as she moved across his body to straddle his thighs. He would have raised it higher, but she pushed his hands away. She ignored his throaty chuckle and caught the material in her fists instead. He fell perfectly silent as India lifted the filmy batiste fabric past her hips and waist, higher still over her breasts and shoulders, and finally over her head. She let it dangle at the end of her fingertips before she dropped it over the side of the bed.
For a moment, her body was limned by the firelight. The contours of her slender frame were given the clear, sharp detail of one of her sketches. Instead of the dark definition of a pencil, the tilt of her head was outlined in golden light. It was the same with the slope of her breasts and the curve of her arm.
South's glimpse was only fleeting. There was no opportunity to enjoy the sight of her before she bent over him and drew up the blankets. Her body was in deep shadow once more, but now it didn't matter, because he could feel the shape of her as she stretched out along his length: her breasts, her hands, her thighs, her mouth.
All of her was beautiful, though he refrained from saying so. It surprised him to hear the words anyway, more so to realize they hadn't come from his lips but from hers.
"You are," she whispered against his lips. "I thought so from the first."
For once South was glad of the darkness, because it hid what he was certain was his ruddy blush. He pinched her lightly on the backside to let her know what he thought of her outrageous compliment.
India was not deterred. She merely wriggled against him, the consequence of which was for South to press his fingers against her buttocks to hold her still.
"I think you are a witch," he said.
"Then I am glad of it." India kissed him again at her leisure, touching her mouth to the corner of his, making her way along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe. She worked her way down his throat, across his collarbone. She kissed his shoulder and spread more across his chest. Her body slid down his; her hands lightly grazed his skin. He had to give up the grasp he had on her bottom and let his own fingers glide along her back as she slipped lower. He made out the crown of her pale hair just before it disappeared under the covers.
"India?"
She found him with her mouth and hands. South's heart tripped over its own beat, hammered hard against his chest. Blood surged hot in his veins, and he felt its rush from his brain to his groin. He was touched as if by a fine madness, lost to coherent thought, driven forward by carnal instinct. This was the heady power of lust, hers and his, and he had only to feel it.
The hot suck of India's mouth, the light pressure of her fist at the base of his penis, drew a short, harsh groan from South. Under the covers, his fingers dug into her silky hair as if to give him purchase. Her tongue laved his flesh. Her hand squeezed. Each foray imitated the thrust of his body in hers, and she did for him here what he had done between her thighs, taking him deeply and wetly and with small murmurs that were equal parts frustration and satisfaction.
"India." He said her name softly, huskily. "Stop. You must..." He felt her shoulders stiffen. "You must stop." Her mouth lifted slowly. Her lips lingered near the head of his engorged shaft. South pushed back the covers, laughing a little desperately when India's head poked out. "Come here."
Uncertain, she pushed herself up on her forearms and inched herself up his body until she was stretched along his length again. "I have repulsed you," she whispered, her breath hitching.
There was a faint roar in his ears, and South had to strain to hear her. It was more difficult to comprehend her meaning. "No!" Then more gently, "No. Can you not feel all evidence to the contrary?"
She certainly felt the pulsing outline of his erection against her belly. "That? It signifies nothing. You were in such a state when I came to bed."
South thought he would choke in an effort to hold back his laughter. It occurred to him that she meant to kill him in exactly this manner, and that all men should die so happily. With just such an end in mind, South cupped her bottom, lifted her, and, hearing no protest from India, eased himself into her. "I was in such a state before you came to bed."
"Is it the Gothic novel that makes you so?"
In response, South's hand snaked upward and grasped the nape of India's neck. He pressed her head down and kissed her hard. When he was quite certain she was breathless and would have no more sauce for him, he told her, "Castle Rackrent is absorbing, my dearest India, but hardly arousing. And well you know it." South did not miss the flash of her siren's smile or the way her body contracted around him. He laid his palm against the side of her face; his thumb brushed the underside of her chin. "You did not repulse me, India," he said softly, solemnly. "Let us leave it at that."
She nodded. Turning her face into his hand, India kissed the heart of his palm. She felt him shudder under her, and then the vibration became her own and the frisson was traveling up her spine and across her shoulders. She felt it in her fingertips as she pressed them into the mattress on either side of his shoulders and raised herself up. Her body began to slowly undulate, lifting, falling, sliding, rocking. She pressed her pelvis against him. The pulse in her throat beat out the rhythm of her most intimate contractions. Leaning toward him, India offered her breasts to his hands. He cupped them, brushing his thumbs across her nipples until they hardened to small pink stones. Her pale hair fell forward over her shoulder and lay lightly across the back of his hands. Her breasts swelled under the exquisite caress of his fingertips.
She looked down at herself and was moved by the sight of his hands on her body. Here was the proof that it did not have to be ugly, she thought. There was some part of her that had always known it must be so, though she had never been able to embrace it as the truth. It crystallized the difference between understanding and believing.
"What is it?" he asked.
India smiled faintly, ruefully. She shook her head, deflecting his question. The curling tips of her hair swung across his hands, and she moaned softly as her nipples scraped his palms. She closed her eyes as his fingers trailed from her breasts down her rib cage. She sucked in her breath, held it, and released it slowly when his touch finally passed over her abdomen.
South slipped his hand between her parted thighs. The little heart nestled in the folds of dewy flesh pulsed against his fingertips. He stroked her once. Twice. He teased her with the tip of his nail. She cried out as the hood of her clitoris was pushed back and the pleasure became too intense to bear. He eased his caress, rubbing more gently now, flesh against flesh, each stroke deliberate and unhurried, paced to the tempo of her breathing and the rhythm of her slowly undulating hips.
He stared up at her, his throat arched, his chest rising and falling in a slightly uneven cadence. There was the faint sough of his breath in the quiet room. He felt the hot strings of tension being pulled taut, first in him, then in her. South grasped her hips, and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her buttocks. He urged her body faster and harder over his. He bucked. She rode. India gripped him with her thighs, a look of fierce concentration coming over her features as she brought him to climax.
He gave a hoarse shout as he spilled his seed into her. India held him tightly. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss in the curve of his neck, breathing deeply of his masculine scent. The smile that shaped her lush mouth and branded his skin was one of delight and triumph. Her small white teeth nipped his flesh.
South slapped her bottom.
She merely wriggled it against him.
Entirely spent, he was unable to fathom that she could rouse a single sensation in him, yet it was undeniably a prickling he felt under his skin. One of his dark brows arched. "You are feeling very full of yourself."
"No, m'lord. Full of you."
Still joined to her, South swiftly turned India on her back and nestled his hips firmly in the cradle of her thighs. He caught her wrists and lifted them to either side of her head; then he kissed her hard on her damp and parted lips. At first he thought it was only his kiss that had quieted her laughter, but then he realized she was far too still under him, her breathing fixed and measured. "What is it?" he asked. "No, do not shake your head at me. Tell me."
"If you would but release me."
South loosed his hold on her wrists and began to move away.
"No," she said quickly. "It is enough that you let me go."
He stayed where was, resting his weight on his forearms. "Better?"
She nodded.
For a moment he thought she might say more, but then she seemed to reconsider the wisdom of it. South let it pass, loath to disturb the peace between them. There was still the matter of India's own satisfaction to attend to. Her body shifted restlessly beneath his, seeking it. Her movement was enough to raise his roguish smile.
"Lusty wench," he murmured against her ear.
"Yes," she whispered. "It must be so."
His smile deepened because she said it as if it startled her. South slipped from between her thighs and turned onto his side. India whimpered softly at the loss. "Sh," he said and turned her toward him. He stroked her hip, then the curve of her thigh. He drew her leg across his so that she was parted for him again. He caressed the soft inner side of her thigh. Her hips jerked as his hand drew closer, and she sucked in her lower lip. He pressed the heel of his hand against her mons and felt her press back. She was silky here, too. Warm and wet. His fingers found the hard little nubbin of flesh, and he deftly manipulated it until he felt her breathing change. She reached for his arm as if to shake him off; then her hands found purchase in the sheets instead.
She closed her eyes and whispered his name. She called him Matthew as her body rose, fell, and finally shattered against his.
* * *
South washed himself at the basin. Afterward, he sat on the edge of the bed and passed the damp flannel to India. The candle on the table was once again lighted, and the flame flickered as his hand passed near it. He did not suppose for a moment that she would allow him to perform the intimate task of washing her. It was odd, he thought, what she would permit and what she would not. While his back was turned at the basin, she had reached for her nightgown and dragged it under the covers with her. He had heard her shifting first one way then another, and he gave her time to put it on, not turning around again until she was quiet.
The cloth was cool, and India averted her head as she drew it between her thighs. She should not have given him permission to light the candle, but he had asked politely and it was no longer in her to deny him that. It had been a revelation making love to him this time, and she was certain now that that was what they had done.
Made love. It was more than coupling. More than mating. There was a wildness to it that made it primal, but it was never without tenderness, never without joy. Yes, they had made love.
India returned the cloth to the basin when he held it out to her. She watched him put it back on the commode, supremely unconcerned by his nakedness. He turned and caught her starting at him.
"Does it bother you?" he asked. "Should I put my nightshirt on?"
She shook her head. Why should he? she thought. He was beautiful. She did not say as much to him again, but it was there for him to see in her eyes. India was not shy about feasting on him as he skirted the foot of the bed and came to stand on the other side. She raised the blankets for him. "I have never seen a naked man before."
One of South's brows kicked up. "Never?"
"Never."
"Margrave?"
"No. There has never been..." She hesitated. "You know I was a virgin."
South slipped into the bed and turned on his side. He propped himself on an elbow and regarded India frankly. "Yes, and I also know there are ways for a woman to pleasure a man that do not require her to relinquish her virginity. When you took me in your mouth, I thought perhaps you had some knowledge of that."
India's chin came up a notch. "I believe it is not uncommon to have knowledge of things for which one has no experience."
He smiled. The flush that colored her cheeks was at odds with her cool tone. "A fine riposte," he said. "And true enough. Are you angry that I spoke so baldly?"
"No."
South touched his forehead to hers and looked her straight in the eye, playfully trying to judge her truthfulness. "I liked that you wanted to pleasure me in such a fashion." He kissed her lightly on the mouth. "I shall look forward to pleasuring you in the same manner."
India blinked.
"Is it that you have no knowledge or no experience?" he asked, rocking back on his side again.
"No experience."
"I see."
India's smile was rueful. She turned slightly and laid her hand on his chest. "No, you don't, but it is kind of you to pretend." She was reluctantly glad of the candlelight because it left South's features open to her. The centers of his eyes were darkening, almost eclipsing the gray irises. She said softly, "This is an idyll, isn't it?"
"An idyll?"
"Yes."
"I had not thought of it in such terms." Because he did not want to. An idyll was brief, a romantic interlude that by definition must have an end. "Idylls should evoke peace and contentment. You will allow that has not always been the way of it between us."
"No," she agreed."But there have been moments." Like now, she thought. She was filled with the sweetness of being next to him, lying in his bed, her hand covering his heartbeat, and fairly drowning in the whispered huskiness of his voice. India's sigh was wistful. "I have been wishing I had some talent for storytelling, but my profession requires only that I use the words of others. I should like to lay my account before you slowly, make it last weeks, even months, and little by little over that time I would make you fall in love with me. It is foolish, I know, but mayhap we would not have to leave here then."
India saw he meant to say something, and she shook her head quickly, staving him off. "I have come to realize I am not possessed entirely of a practical nature. There is a bit of a mad romantic in me, though I am not so adventurous as you. You will want to leave Ambermede soon and be about the business of finding Mr. Kendall's killer. There is also poor Mr. Rutherford to think of and the matter of Lady Macquey-Howell and Senor Cruz. I will return to the theatre with some suitable explanation for my absence, and Mr. Kent will find fault with everything I do for a fortnight. In the end, though, he will forgive me and allow me to return to the fold."
India's hand drifted from South's chest and lay in the space between their bodies. "You and I will not meet often, and then only by chance. I think the colonel will have no more use for me. It will be the same of you."
South said nothing for a moment. He pushed himself upright in bed and leaned back against the headboard. His fingers plowed furrows through his inky hair. "You have given this a great deal of thought."
"Yes."
"And you believe you're in the right of it."
"I would not have said it otherwise." India waited to see if he would present some argument to the contrary. He did not. Neither did he look at her. Instead, he stared straight ahead at the opposite wall, though there was nothing there to hold his interest. She could not fathom what he was thinking; his eyes remained remote, the line of his mouth implacable.
India reined in her disappointment. There would be tears when she was alone, but not for anything would she have him see them now. "I thought I would wait until morning to tell you the rest, but I find I cannot. It should be said and said quickly, so there will be no mistaking what has really been between us." At first she thought he had not been listening; then she saw the muscle working in his cheek and the slight affirmative nod. Brushing back a few strands of hair that had fallen over her cheek, India picked up the threads of the story she had abandoned hours earlier.
"I told you that when I left my position at the Olmsteads and made for London it was with Lady Margrave's blessing. That was true. It is also true that in return for her support she asked that I keep my distance from her son. What I did not explain was that he would not keep his distance from me. Even the countess eventually realized that I was not the corrupting influence she would have liked to believe. Her hold on him became increasingly tenuous, while I could find no respite from his presence. He followed me to London just as he had to the Olmsteads' home."
South looked at her sharply. "You did not tell me he had followed you to the Olmsteads'."
"No, I didn't." India made no apology for it. Still lying on her side, she plumped the pillow under head and settled more deeply under the thick blankets. South had ice water in his veins, she thought, to be so unaffected by the bedchamber's persistent chill. "Margrave visited the Olmsteads for several weeks while I was there. He managed the trip on the pretext of learning more about Mr. Olmstead's successful wool enterprise. It was Margrave playing at being a most progressive landlord and earl, yet his visit had but one true purpose: to see for himself how I was faring."
"What he saw," South said, his voice carefully neutral, "was Mr. Olmstead sniffing after your skirts."
India ignored that, though it was an accurate enough picture. "I acquitted myself rather well, considering my employer's single-minded pursuit. I thought I had made a successful show of proving that I could defend my honor. Still, Mr. Olmstead was not easily turned aside, and I had already determined that I must leave, when he was met with an accident."
South's dark brows knit. "What sort of accident?"
"A fall from his horse."
"Was Margrave still in residence?"
"Oh, yes. He was witness to Mr. Olmstead's fall." India did not have to say more. She saw the shadow of a frown cross South's face, and the almost imperceptible tightening of his lips. He was quickly putting his own construction on what had come to pass between Margrave and her former employer. "You are thinking I should have told you this before," she said.
"It is but one of my thoughts." There was a certain roughness in his voice that spoke of his frustration with her. "Is this what you meant by stringing out the tale? All along you've dropped crumbs for me to follow, when you knew what was at stake. Kendall. Rutherford. Prinny. To what purpose, India? To extend the idyll? You cannot make me fall in love with you."
