Raven's Bride, page 27
“A man wishes to know his children are his own,” Ash said stiffly.
“Then a man ought to wed a woman he trusts.” She clicked her tongue. “Let us not debate this now. Aside from the dubious notion that I have been ruined, why else were you sorry?”
“If you must know, I cannot help but regret my failure to deal with you as a gentleman must deal with a lady.” Could he have said that more awkwardly?
She rolled her eyes. “Oh dear. Honor rears its head again. It always does, with you. And here I am, poor fool, jubilant because you forgot honor for just a while and dealt with me as a man deals with a woman. Altogether a different thing, yes?”
“Not … necessarily.” Where was the Spanish Inquisition when he needed it? Better the rack than an interrogation by Glenys Shea. “Penes te arbitrum huius rei est,” he mumbled.
“Claptrap, I’m sure, whatever it means. And cowardly of you to resort to Latin, Ash. For shame.”
His cheeks burned. “It slipped out. ‘The decision of the question rests with you.’”
“A refreshing change,” she said, putting a hand on his wrist. “And a slippery evasion. I understand more than you give me credit for, and I’m not referring to Latin. You see, I know about the urgency.”
He swallowed, hard.
“I felt it too, Ash. The same uncontrollable force came over me, and all else went away. Honor, virginity, consequences, even curiosity. I was damnably curious about what was going to happen, but when it did, I forgot everything except how much I wanted you.”
He stared at her hand, at the faint blue lines against her pale smooth skin, at the slight throbbing as blood pulsed through her veins. He’d felt all that. Exactly that. He’d forgot everything except how much he wanted her.
“Before, it was only a theory,” she said. “But now I truly understand why you keep a mistress. Yes, I know about that too.”
The rack. He was on it and she was turning the screws. “Past history, Glenys.”
“Oh, you needn’t apologize. I am assured all wealthy men have mistresses. The others go to street fairs.”
Street fairs? “Who filled your head with this twaddle? Never mind. It must have been Nora.”
“Don’t lay yet another crime at her door. I’ve pieced together dibs and dabs from many sources, most of them unreliable. You’ve no idea how frustrating it is, wanting to know when all the world is determined you shall not. Even now, when I ask you direct questions, you refuse to answer.”
“Not … refuse. Dammit, Glenys, I’m no good with words unless they’re in books. I was … I am sorry for dishonoring you. I realize, as you do not, that virginity is important for a young unmarried woman. It’s the way of the world. And too, I am sorry for betraying a code of honor I’ve tried to live by until just recently. But that is my concern, not yours.”
He picked up her hand and pressed it to his lips. “What is most difficult to explain will remain unsaid, because there are no words.”
“Ash, an hour ago you were inside my body. I welcomed you there. After such intimacy, how can you withhold words from me? They exist, imperfectly, like all other words we use to express ourselves. Do the best you can. I need to understand.”
She would not let go. Were all women like this? He was blisteringly aware how few women he’d ever spoken with, beyond the merest pleasantries. Not his wife, certainly. Nor the few women he’d taken to his bed. They did not come there to talk.
But this was Glenys, a creature unlike any he’d ever met. And after what she had done for him, and what he had done to her, he owed her anything she asked. At the least, he would try to explain.
He couldn’t look at her, though. He cradled her hand between both of his and addressed her fingertips. “Your first experience with a man should have brought you pleasure, my dear. They all should, to be sure, but especially the first. Perhaps not a purely sexual pleasure, though, for I understand that is difficult for a virgin.”
He took a deep breath. “You see, I too have picked up dibs and dabs from unreliable sources. My experience is greater than yours, but less than you seem to imagine. I do know that I took no care of you. You call it urgency. I call it madness. I also know what you missed, because I had from you greater delight than ever before. From me, you had nothing at all.”
When she was silent, he mustered the courage to look into her eyes. They gazed back at him, confused.
“How can you say that?” she asked in a reedy voice. “You are mistaken. Nothing in all my life has ever been so wonderful.”
Sweet, foolish girl. He longed to hug her. More than that. Show her. Lead her to feel what her clever mind groped to understand. But that would be yet another betrayal of honor.
And suddenly he didn’t care. In a few hours, she would be gone from his life forever. Between now and then was time out of time, a brief space between pain and pain where he could love her.
If she wanted him to.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Perhaps I can explain, Glenys, but not with words. If you truly wish me to try, stay the night with me. Otherwise, go back to your room now. In te omnia sunt. Everything depends on you.”
“Fiat,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. “Be it done, Ash. Above all things, I want you.”
He drew her to her feet, meaning to remove her robe and nightgown. But she brushed his hands aside, loosened the sash at his waist, and ran her palms over his shoulders and down his chest.
“You are so beautiful,” she said. “I love to look at you. It makes me go tingly all over.” Then she smiled. “Forgive me. It’s the curiosity again. I’ll try not to analyze what is happening, but oh, how I love to look at you.”
He thought he’d melt in a puddle at her feet. “May I look at you?”
She wrinkled her nose. “If you insist, but I cannot think why. God made you splendid and me from spare parts. They all work, my arms and legs and such, but the overall effect cannot be pleasing. No flummery, Ash. I’ve seen myself in a mirror.”
“Not through my eyes,” he said softly.
He applied himself to her robe and night rail. When she was naked, he set her back and looked at her for a long time. “Exquisite, Glenys. Whoever told you otherwise?”
A blush crept over her, from toes to forehead.
With a smile, he shrugged out of his robe. “Your turn, then.”
She licked her lips, examining him with unconcealed fascination. “May I touch you?”
“You may do whatever takes your fancy. Unless I stop you,” he amended hastily. “If I do, it’s because this time there is to be no urgency. This time, we shall make every moment last forever.”
“Mmmmm. That sounds wonderful.” She stepped forward and put her hands on his wrists. Then she stroked her fingers up his arms, tracing the curves of his muscles. “You are exceedingly strong. And hairier than Harry.” A gurgle of laughter escaped her lips. “How silly of me.”
More earnestly, she continued her exploration of his body. He held still, consumed from the inside out, repressing the flames with all his might as her hands wandered over his shoulders. She moved around him then, and he felt her fingertips on his back, and waist, and buttocks.
“I think,” he said in a choked voice, “you had better stop now.” Turning, he swept her into his arms and lowered her to the bed. Her eyes, wide and unafraid, gazed at him with longing.
He took a moment to regather control, and remembered to pick up a towel from the dressing table. Then he lay beside her, propping himself on one elbow.
“Now I will touch you, Glenys. Everywhere.”
She shivered as he began to caress her arms the way she’d done to him, and her neck, and the sweet curve of her ear. He pushed the hair back from her face, massaging her scalp gently.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
“Soon.”
He stroked her collarbone with his forefinger, and the valley between her small, perfect breasts. He moved down, slowly, to her waist and navel. Under his finger her hips began to move restlessly. So passionate she was. So eager.
When he returned to her breasts, she made a little noise of pleasure. He touched the soft side of one breast, just above her ribs, and moved his finger slowly around and up, until it brushed her nipple.
“Ashhhh.”
“Do you like that?” He devoted even more attention to her other breast, still with one finger. Then he bent his head and replaced the finger with his tongue.
Her hand caught at his neck, pulling him closer.
“Patience,” he murmured. Then he took her in his mouth and suckled. Her sighs became groans of pleasure.
His hand strayed over her belly, to her flanks, as he loved her breast with his mouth and tongue. He caressed her sleek buttocks, molding them in his hand.
She was writhing under him now, holding his shoulders with both hands. His fingers drifted to the silky flesh of her thighs and moved upward.
When he touched the curly hair between her legs, she let out a tiny cry, opening her knees. Demanding more. Wanting it immediately.
As did he. But he forced himself to take his time, letting her feel, inch by inch, his approach to the center of her need.
His finger slipped between the twin folds of swollen flesh, slick and moist with desire. He raised up to look at her. Her head was thrown back on the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut as she gave herself over to the sensations he roused in her body.
Never had he seen anything more beautiful than Glenys in the throes of female passion. It staggered him, her open, unbounded sensuality.
He sought her tight opening and heard her moan as he slid his finger inside her. She closed her legs around his hand, twisting her hips, reaching for the completion her body knew to crave.
“Not yet,” he told her, still watching her face. “Slowly, Glenys. Relax and feel me.”
She tried to obey. Her knees fell open and he moved his finger in her, deeper with every stroke.
“Kiss me now,” he said, sliding one hand behind her neck and lifting her slightly. Her mouth welcomed him, her tongue licking around his as his finger penetrated and withdrew, in and out, a leisurely, compelling rhythm he matched with his tongue.
Aware his control was near to shattering, he put his thumb against her bud and pressed it once, twice, and again, a silent promise.
Finally he broke the kiss, long enough to kneel between her legs, his finger still buried in her. “Now, Glenys?”
“Oh yes,” she said breathlessly. “Please.”
He kissed her, gently this time, and put one hand on her breast. Withdrawing the other from her body, he guided himself to her entrance and held there for a moment. “Remember. Slowly. Let yourself feel everything. Me going into you. Us, joined together.”
“Slowly,” she echoed. “But hurry.”
Ah, he wanted to. He burned for release. He could have it, swiftly, and she’d be there to meet him. Her nails dug into his back. Any moment now and the urgency would send them up in flames.
But he went inside her little by little, groaning as she closed around him until he could reach no farther. Gathering her into his arms, he began to move his hips. She did too, in small circles, wringing the last ounce of control away. He gave himself up to her passion, plunging harder and harder, lifting her so that he rubbed against her nub with every stroke.
Then she shuddered, and convulsed, and he held still as the pleasure flooded through her body. “Ohhhh,” she sighed. “Ohhhh.”
When she quieted, savoring the last throbbing pleasure, he pulled away and reached for the towel.
“Ash?” A limp hand settled on his arm. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh.” He swallowed his groan of release and stretched out beside her. Immediately, she curled against his chest. He closed his arms around her.
“I understand now,” she said. “And you were right, Ash. There are no words.”
“None.”
She nuzzled his throat. “I think my bones have melted.”
“Mine too.”
“Is it always like this? My body wants to go to sleep, but that’s the very last thing I want to do.”
“Tonight, Glenys, you must do whatever your heart desires. Sleep. Even talk, if you must.”
“All these choices, and me limp as a dishrag. May we do it again—what we just did?”
“Yes. Or something like. Not immediately, though, unless you are set on it. If so, I’ll do my best.”
“Ah. Maybe I’ll sleep then, for a few minutes. Promise to wake me up very soon?”
“I promise.”
He wasn’t sure she heard him. Her hand, the one that had been stroking his chest, went still. Her soft breath, rhythmic and even, warmed his neck.
His eyes drifted shut. I promised to wake her up, he told himself. I musn’t go to sleep.
When she nudged him awake and pressed her lips to his, the fire had burned to coals in the hearth. The room was cold. He’d forgot to cover them with blankets.
She moved over his body, on top of him, liquid smoke on his flesh. “Love me again,” she whispered, licking at his ear. “I am fire to your ice, Ash Cordell. Love me again.”
He did.
30
THE GRAY, DRIZZLY afternoon might have been specially ordered to reflect her mood.
Glenys gazed listlessly at the wintry hedgerows, their skeletal twigs trembling in the wind. Killain and three bodyguards rode outside the coach, muffled in heavy greatcoats. Harry sat across from her, fiddling with his cane.
Lord Killain had promised him a chance to shed his dress for trousers when next they stopped, which lifted his mood briefly. But Glenys had refused to answer her brother’s persistent questions, and finally told him to leave her the devil alone. Since then he’d maintained a sullen silence.
His feelings were hurt, but she could not bear to speak to him. She was still finding it difficult to breathe. Tight bands had wrapped themselves around her chest and throat six hours ago, not loosing their grip as the day wore on.
Ash was sending them to America after all.
That morning she had awakened in her own bed with no remembrance of how she came to be there. Deliciously aching from the long night of passion, she soaked in a hot bath while Prudence bustled about, laying out a heavy chemise, long-sleeved woolen dress, and halfboots for her to wear. Still distracted and dreamy, she put them on without a second thought.
Had she wondered at their unsuitability for Devonshire House, she might have been prepared when Ash summoned her. Instead, she floated into the parlor expecting a warm kiss from the man she loved.
A stranger met her, steely-eyed and rigid as a block of ice. Not Ash, but Lord Ravensby, more stern and forbidding than she’d ever seen him, even when he thought her a hired assassin. He held up a hand to keep her from advancing too close.
And then he issued orders, clicking them off one by one from a list in his hand. His voice was a hammer on a cold anvil. Lord Killain would escort the Sheas to Newhaven and a ship scheduled to sail on the midnight tide. She was to speak to no one before leaving. He had prepared instructions how to proceed when they landed in Boston Harbor.
There were words about bank drafts, letters of introduction, luggage being packed … words and words and words. She heard none of them after a while. Her heart pounded too loudly. Tight bands closed around her chest. Tears burned her eyes. She fought them for a time, but they spilled over, scorching her cheeks and lips.
In a haze of pain, she realized the earl had stopped speaking. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes and sought him in the dim room. He wavered, like a ghost, somewhere near the window.
“Wh-why?” she asked in a strangled voice.
“Did you fail to attend me? No questions, Miss Shea, for I have no answers you’ll wish to hear. I do only what I should have done long since. You and Harry will be well cared for.”
“And what of you?”
“Damn! You never listen. I am giving you all that I can—a place to go, a secure income, a new life in America. Make of it what you will. If nothing else, think of your brother. He needs you, and I do not.”
That rocked her on her heels. “Even if you put your child in me last night?”
“There won’t be a child, Glenys. Even in the madness that gripped me, I took precautions.” His voice gentled, marginally. “You are hurting now, and I am sorry for it. But you’ll quickly rebound. You always do. It is one of the qualities I most admire in you, along with your courage.”
He made a wide circle around her as he went to the door and opened it. Killain was there, waiting to take her in his charge. Ash had shuffled her away before she could throw herself at his feet and beg him to keep her.
Now, she replayed their last meeting over and over in her mind, searching for one crumb of hope, the tiniest indication he meant to contact her again. A hint that he even wanted to. There was nothing.
He had cut her off like a dead flower from a rosebush. He thought to plant her in a new place, imagining she would bloom again. But she was unable to conceive of a future without him.
She didn’t try.
More compelling than her misery was the certainty he intended to force a confrontation with the murderer, whatever the risk. The man who made love to her with unmistakable ardor, only to cast her away within a few hours, did so with benighted reasons of his own.
He meant to remove her from harm’s way and put himself there, alone. Make an end, once and for all, to years of torment and exile.
He had been cruel, only to make her despise him. He wanted her to forget him. Idiot. As if she could. As if, once past his searing rejection, she wouldn’t put two and two together.
She still hurt, awfully, but she understood. The devil of it was, she couldn’t stop him. Nor could she help him. He’d made sure of that.
Even so, she roused herself at the next posthouse and ate a hearty meal while Harry changed clothes. If an opportunity presented itself, she was determined to be ready. What sort of opportunity, she had no idea, but damned if she’d sail off to Boston and forget about Ash Cordell.
