8

Jeremy was not really sure what was happening. One minute, he had been treading oh so carefully in an attempt not to startle his surprisingly virginal bride. The next, she had knocked him flat on his back, pounced on top of him, and was kissing him with an abandonment that quite took his breath away. His hands crept up to graze first her hips and then clasp tightly the slight dip of her waist.

My God , he thought. This was the Emmeline Ballentine he remembered, the one who wanted him wholeheartedly and could not hide the fact. Thank God . Thank God he had not lost her. He had been so afraid that eager girl was gone.

Their connection was still there, that was all that mattered. She still wanted him and he—oh God, he was still absolutely desperate for her. He groaned against her mouth, then made a noise of protest when she tore her lips from his. She rolled off him and lay on her side, panting and trying to catch her breath. “My God, who taught you how to kiss like that?” he had to ask, shifting forward so their bodies touched.

It was stupid to feel both scorchingly jealous and wildly appreciative at the same time. But there was not a single chance in hell it had been that cold fish Stockton. Had there been some other man with the good sense to corner her over the last ten years? If so, he wanted to kill him and shake his hand at the same time.

She gave him a funny look. “I thought we agreed not to—to mention that night,” she said. He opened his mouth to point out he had agreed to nothing, she had simply bowled him over. Then the realization hit him. Was she saying that he was the one who had tutored her in the art of kissing, and him alone?

He reached out to her, catching her chin and gently turning her face toward him. “ Me? ” he asked with sudden urgency. “Just me, and no one else?” When she remained silent, he urged, “Tell me.” Emmeline pressed her pretty lips together. She would not meet his gaze but when he did not release her, she finally relented and gave a short nod of assent.

A fire blazed in his chest. “ Emmeline ,” he whispered, feeling profoundly shaken. Pulling her back into his arms, he lowered his head and kissed her, sealing his lips to hers gently and sweetly, giving her all the care and solicitude his kisses had lacked during that stormy embrace neither of them had forgotten.

For all that they were tender, they left him no less affected than the kisses that came before, and he was sure she must be only too aware of the fact. After all, he was entirely naked, and her nightgown was worn and thin. Through its cotton, he could feel the glorious press of her rounded thighs so she could be in no ignorance of his hard, eager cock or the brazen way it pressed into her soft belly.

His hands skimmed her back before sliding around to her front, where he paused to check she made no objection before lightly cupping her full breasts. He groaned and simultaneously Emmeline let out a breathy sigh. “Can I undo this?” he asked, his fingers already settling on the uppermost button.

“Yes.” Her answer was mercifully swift, and he made short work of the six mother-of-pearl buttons, slipping his hand inside the bodice and running his palm over the plump swell of her breasts.

“ Oh, Emmeline ,” he said hoarsely, kissing her again as he made out their shape. She made a noise in her throat, part surprise, part something else. “Do you like that?” he asked, pulling back to feast his eyes on her in the candlelight.

“Yes,” she murmured, half opening her eyes. “Do not stop.”

He felt the smile curve his lips as he kneaded her generous breasts. Her face was flushed, and her glorious hair spread across the pillow. He would have liked to stroke the tumbled tresses if he could bear to remove his hands from her bosom.

He could not, however. So instead, he traced their peaks until his fingertips found her hardened nipples. These were just as delectable as the rest of her. She was gorgeous, he thought dazedly, like the most splendid Renaissance painting he had ever seen.

And the wonder of it was, she was still half-dressed in her dowdy nightgown. It was all wrong. She should be wearing sumptuous silk draperies, not practical cotton. He tugged down the neckline until her breasts jutted out, freed from the bodice but framed by the frilled fabric and ribbon, as though presented to him as an offering.

Emmeline gave a muffled squeak, glancing down. “Should I just take it off?” she asked, struggling up onto her elbows.

“No,” he said huskily. “I like seeing them like this.”

Her face was a picture. “Wh-what?”

“They look almost gift-wrapped for me,” he mused, running his fingertip over her deep pink nipples. “Like a present.” Emmeline’s face flamed, and she looked as though she was struggling to find words. “Has anyone ever told you your breasts are magnificent, Ballentine?”

“Of course not!” She sounded scandalized, her breath coming short and fast, making her chest heave.

He bit his lip, his eyes roaming greedily over the spectacle. “Well, that’s almost criminal,” he lamented. “But I confess I’m selfish enough to be glad of the fact.” She stared at him, all rosy and confused. “I want to suck on them. May I?”

Her mouth fell open but no sound came out. He guessed Miss Pinson’s education had never covered such eventualities.

“How about we try it first, and then you decide?” he suggested, his mouth already watering at the prospect.

“Er, y-yes, very well,” she assented stiltedly, her gaze sliding away. He could almost feel the heat radiating from her face.

“Brave Ballentine,” he murmured with approval and flicked a nipple with his thumb. She made that startled noise in her throat again and he lowered his head to bestow soft kisses, first down the valley between the globes of her breasts, and then around their crested peaks, teasing the nipples liberally with his tongue.

Emmeline squeaked and wriggled beneath him, which only added to his pleasure. He rolled more firmly atop her, pinning her in place and rubbing his hips against hers, letting her know what was in store for her. He had never felt so hard in his life. His hands encircled her breasts, crudely squeezing as he feasted on them in turn, sucking the nipples deep into his mouth and moaning against them.

Emmeline’s muffled, breathy sounds in his ears spurred him on and on until he realized he was in imminent danger of spilling against the friction of her nightgown and the warmth of her belly. He had never felt so voracious, so utterly consumed with a woman. It would all be over if he did not exercise some control.

Tearing his mouth from her, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing raggedly and praying for strength. “My God, Emmeline,” he started shakily, “I knew it would be good between us but this. It surpasses everything. I can’t wait, forgive me, my darling.”

“Yes,” she murmured. Yes, she forgave him for his haste? His thoughts were scattered and lust-filled as he gazed down searchingly at the blissful expression on her face. Her eyes were half shut and her lips parted. Christ, she was exquisite. He had known this at nineteen, so why had it taken him a decade to rediscover her?

Giving his head a quick shake, he shoved the disordered blankets aside and reached down for the hem of her nightgown, drawing it up and over her plump thighs. His hand trembled as he uncovered her to his gaze, still breathing hard. The hair on her pussy was an even redder gold than that on her head.

His mouth was watering again, but he did not have the forbearance to last through another round of delights at this point. He would have to postpone that pleasure. “Open your legs for me, Emmeline,” he begged, his voice thick with desire.

Emmeline’s legs fell apart, and Jeremy caught his breath. Please be— “Wet,” he groaned as his fingers sought out her drenched slit. “Fuck,” he enunciated distinctly, then remembered his manners. “Emmeline, you are so, so ready for me.” Thank God, he thought with a rush of gratitude. Thank God that fool Stockton had not taken what was his. “Wider,” he said huskily. “Bend your knees.”

She did not even hesitate. Jeremy stared at the sight his fingers made, embedded in her pink, plump pussy. He felt an almost dizzying rush of blood to his head. He pumped his fingers inside her and thumbed her clitoris, spreading the wetness there.

Emmeline shifted beneath him restlessly. “Tell me what pleases you,” he demanded.

“Y-you do,” she whimpered. Her eyes were closed, her breathing hitched as she arched up into his fingers. God, she was responsive.

“There?” he asked, concentrating his efforts in that precise area. She bit her lip and gave a stifled moan. “Yes, I think that is the spot,” he murmured, lavishing her stiff clitoris with attention. He felt a gush of wetness against his fingers.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, Jeremy !” She stiffened, her eyes opened wide, and she stared at him as her limbs started trembling violently, her slick sheath pulsing tightly around his two fingers.

“That’s it,” he grunted as she came apart beautifully with a low, husky moan. Fuck . It was the most arousing thing he had ever seen in his life.

“Ohhhhhh!” she cried. Her cheeks were poppy red by this point and her shining eyes spilled over as she slumped in his arms, breathing hard. “Oh,” she whispered again, sounding dazed.

“I like it when you say my name when you come, Ballentine,” he whispered, kissing her brow. “I want you to do it again.”

“Jeremy,” she murmured obediently.

He smiled, hearing the languorous satisfaction in her voice, and slid his fingers out of her. They were wet with her essence, and he tasted first one and then the other before sucking them fully into his mouth. “You taste good,” he observed with a groan. “I look forward to pursuing that at some later point.” Emmeline blinked up at him, seemingly lost for words. “Right now, though, I am absolutely at my limit,” he continued regretfully. “I, er, need my cock inside you now, if that is agreeable with you.”

Emmeline’s mouth opened and closed again. She could not possibly get any redder. “Oh, of course,” she said in a strangled voice.

He shifted over her, letting her feel more of his weight, though he kept his hands braced on either side of her. “Emmeline,” he whispered. She was delightfully warm and cushiony beneath him. Her eyes fluttered open, big, brown, and lustrous. God, she was beautiful. “Have I ever told you how much I like your eyes on me and only me?” he asked, sounding tortured even to his own ears.

“I think you did once,” she said in a whisper. “Though I think you were slightly foxed at the time.”

Christ, had she realized that even then? “Keep your eyes on me now,” he ordered, “and your hands.”

She met his eyes and slipped her arms around his back. The motion jostled her breasts against him, distracting him. Should he let her put them away? He didn’t want to. Not at all. Strangely, he liked the fact her nightgown was still intact, though hitched indecently around her waist. It lent a certain something to proceedings.

“I was more than slightly foxed all the time in those days,” he admitted hoarsely. “If I had not been…” He could not continue his train of thought as he slid his cock through her wet folds, slicking himself up on her. He was watchful for any sign of nervousness, but Emmeline showed none, lying pliant and warm beneath him.

His nostrils flared as he restrained himself from pushing into her. His body wanted to rut but what was left of his thoughts reminded him that she was untouched but for him. “I hope I do not hurt you,” he said as the unpleasant thought occurred to him.

“It does not hurt at this moment,” she answered, her voice sounding strange.

“No, but the next part might,” he said, reaching down to position his cock against her warm, moist entrance. He had to bite back a moan as he felt his cockhead notch just right and start to sink into her. She was so warm and delightfully wet. Emmeline took a sharp breath, and he froze at once. “Too much?” he asked.

“No, no, all is well,” she urged, squeezing her arms tight around his back.

“My brave Ballentine,” he murmured, then he adjusted his hips and thrust right into her.

Her cry was drowned out by his own grunt of satisfaction as he closed his eyes to savor the feeling. He shuddered. God. It was good. It was almost too good. He could come at this moment, he realized with surprise. It would be almost a relief to just come in a rush, then lie in her arms.

He could not allow such a thing, of course. Unless she would rather it was over with. He opened his eyes and beheld her. “Emmeline?” he whispered.

Her eyes were bright with tears, but they did not fall. Instead, she gave him a shaky smile and he felt something stir in his chest. Something that had lain dormant for a long, long time. Maybe for as long as ten years.

“It only hurts a bit,” she whispered, “but I do not mind it at all.”

Fuck. That was all it took. He lowered his head with a gasp and came hard, emptying himself into her like a green boy with his first fuck. What the hell? God, the relief of it though. He could have wept. Instead, he lay there feeling dazed and oddly grateful.

After a moment, he felt Emmeline’s hand hesitantly brush across his shoulder blades. He should move off her, he realized, instead of lying slumped over her like a felled oak. He should , but he did not want to. Not remotely. Emmeline’s flesh was so soft and welcoming. He wanted to luxuriate in her forever and never to part. Still, his spent body must be heavy, and no doubt she was uncomfortable, though she voiced no objection.

At last, he mustered the strength to withdraw and roll off her, stretching out beside her on the mattress. Neither of them spoke for a long while. Then Emmeline stirred, sat up, and started rearranging her nightgown into a more decent state. “I am going to have to take a wash,” she whispered almost apologetically as she did up her buttons. “Do you want to come along? I could show you where the bathroom is. It’s a shared one, I’m afraid, though we should not bump into anyone at this hour.”

This talk of shared bathrooms was oddly jarring. He was sorely tempted to tell her to undo her buttons and like back down again. She wanted to wash between her legs, he guessed and felt…strange about it. Still, he did not want her uncomfortable or to see her leave the room without him.

“You will have to lend me your robe,” he said, “as I did not bring anything.” This seemed to take her aback, but she did fetch him a velvety garment with mercifully few flounces. He guessed in the dark it might be taken for a man’s. He rose from the bed, still feeling giddy and light-headed after the strength of his orgasm.

He slipped the robe on and tied the belt as Emmeline donned her slippers and a shawl and collected a drawstring bag. “Come here,” he said, picking up the candle which had practically guttered and holding his other hand out to her. She took it and together they crept along the hall, unlocked the door, and then went out into the corridor beyond.

“It’s this one,” she whispered, halting before a door. “Will you go in first?” she asked awkwardly, for all the world as though he were her guest rather than her husband.

“I am not leaving you out here in a draughty corridor, Ballentine,” he said, pulling her in behind him and fastening the door.

Emmeline seemed a little shy about sharing the contents of her toiletry bag with him, which was ridiculous considering they had just shared their bodies. Still, he did not really mind, he realized as he sniffed her rose-scented soap and inspected her face flannel as she filled the basin on the washstand from a large jug on the windowsill. There were five lined up there all in a row.

“The water’s cold, I’m afraid. The copper in the scullery won’t be lit until tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll survive a little cold water,” he assured her, though the prospect of dousing himself in it was far from enticing. He wondered if she and Miss Pinson were obliged to run up and down the stairs with jugs of water to fill the bath.

There were three leaning against the wall, ranging in size. He wandered over to them, inspecting the smallest one which looked to be no more than a Parisien sponging bath, while the largest was a tub of decent size.

“Did you want to use the sponge bath?” Emmeline asked, turning her head.

“No, you’re right, it’s too cold right now. I should like to see you use it, though not today.”

“Me?” She lowered her washcloth to stare at him in surprise.

He nodded. “Crouched over it with your hair pinned high on your head. You would look just like a bathing Venus,” he said, imagining her pouring water over her plump curves, her eyes half-closed as they had been while he pleasured her with his fingers. Not in this cold, tiled bathroom though. Such a scene deserved a more luxurious setting. His own private bathroom perhaps, at Vance Park.

Emmeline colored hotly and returned to her much more practical ablutions. When she was done, he replaced her at the sink as she brushed and tamed her hair into a braid which hung over her shoulder. He watched her in the mirror as he completed his own wash.

Then they retraced their steps, the candle burning very low at this point. When Emmeline turned the key in the door to her rooms, it seemed very loud, and they exchanged a conspiratorial look, no doubt hoping they had not woken Miss Pinson.

Once they had climbed back into her bed, he reached for her at once, drawing her into his arms and brushing a stray lock of her hair from her face. He let his fingers trail down her cheek and neck, lightly tracing her rounded shoulder.

“What color would you say your hair is?” he asked in a low voice. “Sometimes it looks dark gold and other times it looks quite coppery.”

“A reddish sort of light brown, I suppose,” she murmured, making him frown.

“It’s no such thing. It is some shade that lies between Titian red and Venetian blond,” he corrected her. “Light brown indeed! When we get to Vance Park, I must show you my collection of Venuses.” He looked thoughtful. “Some of them resemble you very much.”

“Venuses?” He nodded. “Are they very fleshy?” she asked suspiciously, surprising a laugh out of him.

“That’s the way I like them,” he answered with perfect truth, sitting up to blow out the candle. He did not think he had ever been entirely honest about that before though, even to himself. Emmeline pulled a face. “I’m glad you’re back in my life, Ballentine,” he said impulsively. “I missed you.”

Just before he extinguished the candle, he had time to register Emmeline’s reaction, first surprise, then a quickly veiled disbelief. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, settling back down beside her. She did not answer for a moment.

“If Lily Skellern had not mentioned me in passing to your son, I daresay you would scarcely have remembered my name,” she said wistfully.

“That is simply not true,” he replied, feeling stung. “And she did not ‘mention you in passing.’ She took great relish in telling my son of my misconduct toward you. That is an entirely different thing.”

“Hmm,” Emmeline murmured noncommittally.

“Had you forgotten me?” he demanded. Again, she held her tongue. “I never forgot you,” he stressed. “I was just married to another woman. I assumed you would be married too.” He hesitated. “You should have been married, by rights. But all the same,” he softened his voice, “I am glad you were not.”

She was so quiet, he could almost believe she had drifted off to sleep. Almost. “What position do you sleep in?” he asked her quietly, deciding to let her get away with her rebelliousness this once. Wordlessly she rolled over to face away from him and he curled around her back, settling against the warmth of her body. The physical closeness consoled him for the sudden emotional distance. He would have to bridge that gap at some later point. For now, he thanked his stars to have her in his arms once more. It was enough, he told himself. For now.