Chapter 28

Twenty-Eight

CADIEUX HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 16, 1816

CELINE

The air was thick and heavy with humidity that night. Or perhaps it was anticipation. Michael's words still rang in my ears and my head. He was right. I would do it over again. I would choose Gabriel every single time, even those last moments holding his hand. Even the agonizing, devastating weeks, months, years that followed.

It had been worth it.

If I was honest, I had suspected for several days that William would be worth it too. Or he could be. I would have to take the risk to be certain. But as he babbled on across the table about Davina's latest escapade at Wayland's, his eyes a bright cobalt blue and razor cheeks flushed with delight, I rather thought that I knew he was.

He was such an intriguing combination of discrepancies. Sharp, hardened angles softened by a warmth within. Familiar in death and loss and naive in love and lust. Guarded and blustery before opening up with naked, earnest vulnerability.

I was a rather poor conversationalist. Though my artless, wordless study of him was sufficient to encourage his story. It was charming, what little of it I was listening to. It would not be such a terrible fate, watching his animated face retell stories at the table night after night, year after year. In fact, I was hard-pressed to consider a fate I would enjoy more. This kind, loyal, intelligent, witty, handsome man for company? It would be no hardship at all. There was no better fate.

There were things to discuss. The conclusion of my discussion with Michael being nowhere near the bottom of the list. But quite frankly, those didn't interest me at the moment. No, at present, I was aware of my body in a purely feminine way. And I was aware of his body in that same way. I had mapped the distance between our angled seats.

In my mind, I had yanked him to me with a handful of cravat and fallen into his arms. Unfortunately, if he knew the direction my thoughts took, he gave no indication of it.

Which left me in the awkward position of trying to implement my plan. The one that involved the rest of the evening luxuriating between the sheets and exploring all the different ways to bring each other pleasure. Not separating until the sun rose and set and rose again—perhaps thrice more.

What this man lacked in experience, he more than compensated for in enthusiasm when he'd kissed me. I had absolutely no reason to suspect the boudoir would be any different.

He was midsentence when I interrupted, unable to stifle the want careening through my blood for a moment longer.

"William?"

His pause was lengthy, likely parsing his last few words for the offense. "Yes?" he asked cautiously, drawing the word out. Waiting for a reproach.

"Have you given any more thought to our conversation that first night? In the hall?" By the way his jaw ticked, he more than understood me.

"Have I given any thought to… Constantly. Every moment. It's quite thoroughly driven me to distraction. A man does not forget a conversation like that, love."

"And are you opposed to exploring our other option tonight?"

He swallowed thickly before answering—not with words but with a kiss, wild and hungry. Evidently he found the possibility of exploring that option more than favorable.

His lips fell against my own with a breathless groan. Fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me close—closer. It wasn't close enough, not for either of us.

The clatter of dishes and silverware echoed through the room as he rose and hauled me out of my seat and onto his lap without breaking contact. His warm, William-scented frame bracketed me against the table. I tugged his unfairly soft curls and traced that blade he called a cheek. I tasted the lemony dessert on his tongue. He was delectable.

The edge of the table ground into my lower back. I didn't mind the bite, but when his hand found a home there, serving as a cushion, I loved that. He was all thoughtful consideration, even in the fog of lust.

His hand fisted in the tendrils at the base of my neck, somehow managing not to tug on the pins. The other hand tightened on my waist, even as his forearm was sacrificed to the table. He took full control—there was no hesitation when he tilted my head the way he wished and chased my tongue with his own.

A teasing nip to his tongue was answered with something akin to a growl that was far more arousing than it had any right to be. He pulled me even harder against him, my skirts pushing up against his hips. The movement left me directly over top of his growing hardness.

He abandoned my lips with a groan and found his way to that magical place where my shoulder met my neck. I was left unable to do anything except clutch his neck, moan wantonly, and press myself closer to him in any way possible.

His hands slid boldly down to my bottom. Assisting me, rocking me harder against him. Then, in a movement that left me gasping and clinging to his shoulders, he stood, supporting me with one hand on my low back and the other gripping my backside.

With a grace and confidence I never could have predicted, he strode purposefully down the hall and up the staircase. I clung to him, my legs wrapped low around his waist. When it became clear that he was in no danger of dropping me, I used the opportunity to loosen his cravat and take the fullest advantage of the newly revealed skin. His throat bobbed enticingly, and I nipped playfully there, earning a groan.

He navigated the first staircase without trouble, only stumbling when my teasing ministrations became too much. At the landing, he pressed me into the wall, taking the opportunity to find my lips with his. With a nibble on my lower lip, he pulled away, growling, "Behave."

"If you wanted someone who would behave, we wouldn't be here right now."

He pulled my lips back to his, slightly more tender. "Behave enough that I don't drop you at least," he said, trying and failing to bite back a grin.

He hauled us both away from the wall, continuing up the steps, down the hall, into my open bedroom.

William

I had never been so close to heaven and so near hell in the same breath as I stumbled, my arms full of Celine toward the bedroom.

I was going to die—it was an absolute fact—if I didn't do something right this second. What that something was, I hadn't the foggiest. Every single idea that flitted through my head was the best I'd ever had. Tear her gown off, yes. Kiss her everywhere , certainly. Bury myself inside her and never leave, unquestionably the best notion anyone had ever had.

The problem was that I wanted— needed —this to be good for her. Better than good.

I was man enough to admit I was a jealous arse. I wanted to be better than Gabriel. Better than Wayland. I wanted to make her forget their names and any others that had come before me.

Unfortunately I had nothing to go on but instinct and the little whimpers, mewls, and groans that escaped her. And I had enough sense left to know that this was not likely to be an impressive performance. Nights of holding her in my arms with no release meant I was wound tauter than a drum. If there was to be any hope, I would need to slow this down.

I set her on her feet reluctantly inside her bedroom. She was rumpled and more beautiful than she had ever been. Her eyes burned an olive in the firelight. Her cheeks and neck were flushed from my attentions. In short, she was perfection.

Why had I stopped kissing her again?

"You missed the bed…"

"I didn't. I want to take your gown off first."

"Unnecessary." She grabbed my hand, trying to tug me to the bed but the temptation of her bare form before me in the candlelight was not one I would forgo willingly.

"Very necessary. I want to see you, love. All of you. Let me? Please?"

"How do you always say the exact right thing?"

"I have never in my life said the right thing, as you know better than most. Now turn around." I started with her hairpins. Plucking the decorative little pearls tucked into her silken champagne waves. Lord, this hair… One by one the curls tumbled down into a rippling curtain of sunshine, glittering in the shadows cast by the flames. There were so many shades of gold, some near white, some strands a darker sun-kissed bronze.

"William?" She turned back to face me, all flushed and lovely.

"Yes, love?"

"I thought you were going to take my gown off." I pulled her hair to one shoulder, freeing the other for my lips. I received a small sound that could only be named contentment as her tiny fist found my shirt and tugged.

"So impatient… Want to savor this. Savor you."

"But…"

"Celine, love, I want to do this properly."

"And slowly is properly?"

"Hush and turn back around." She did with a raised brow as the only comment. My hands shook slightly as I studied the hooks.

I had faced a damn army and I was intimidated by some dress hooks. A little curl at the base of her neck swished back and forth in time with my harsh breath. Swallowing my nerves, I started at the base of her neck.

The hooks came free with ease, one after another. The lavender silk parted to reveal a fine petticoat underneath. It was decorated with enticing bits of lace. She raised her hands and tugged the straps off her shoulders. It loosened suddenly in time with the gown. Both fell off her in waves to pool between us.

She was still wrapped in a chemise and stays, and I still wore my waistcoat and shirtsleeves. I traced the laces with my fingers, a perfect row of straight lines down her back ending in a delicate bow. Without giving myself time to think, I tugged one of the strands and the knot slipped loose. I was not entirely unfamiliar with women's undergarments; my past interactions with them had been substantially less erotic.

Celine was so vivacious it was easy to forget just how tiny she truly was. Not now, not when my hands fit over her waist with room to spare. She was so damn small. So damn fragile. And so damn brave. I could have lost her that night, before I knew her.

And I never would have known this .

Shaking away the intrusive thoughts, I loosened one row of cording, then the next. It only took a few before that layer joined the others on the floor. That left only her chemise. A whisper-thin scrap of delicate muslin, entirely transparent in the firelight, silhouetting her, was all that stood between me and her bare form.

"'Lo, love."

She smiled, turning to face me as she tucked her fingers into the top of my waistcoat and tugged. "My turn?"

"I'd rather continue my turn, but I suppose." She gave me a whisper soft kiss to my chin, playful and pleased when she pulled back.

Turning her gaze to my waistcoat she slipped the buttons free with ease. She pushed in close, shoving it off my shoulders to join her frippery. Before I could make for the delicate bow mocking me between her breasts, she slid her hands to my loose cravat. She tugged one end free, looping it around my neck. Just when I thought she would pull the other end free, she instead fisted one end in each hand and tugged me down to her. My lips tasted her self-satisfied grin.

Celine took control of the kiss, holding me where she wanted, directing me. It was as comforting as it was arousing. With her instruction, perhaps my showing would not be as poor as I feared. Hands knotting in my hair and my shirt, pulling me ever closer. I understood the desire, the need, the absolute loathing of the space and fabric between us.

She broke free for a gasping breath, yanking my shirt over my head with no ceremony whatsoever.

Rather than returning her lips to mine, which was my preference, she dragged her hands across my chest and stomach. Her expression was entirely unreadable. Unease began to fill me, was I not what she expected?

"Love?"

She blinked back to me, her eyes finding mine. "Apologies, I just… Solicitors don't look like that ."

"Like what?" I asked, making a rather poor show of hiding my distress.

"Will— I've never… You're a damn statue."

"I don't know what that means."

She shook her head, at last smiling slightly. "It's good. Don't worry about it."

When I had no response to that she decided there should be more kissing. That was good—more kissing was always good.

Somehow, she managed to maneuver us to the bed. I only noticed when my knees hit the edge and buckled. Celine, beautiful, clever Celine set first one knee, then the other on the bed outside of my hips, straddling me with ease. She pulled back against the fist I had tangled in her curls, keeping her lips pressed to mine.

"Relax. There's no one here but us," she whispered. Her lips brushed across mine with assurance.

"Love…"

"We've talked about this. Anything you wish to know, I am more than happy to teach you." There was no guile in her expression, and when I cupped her cheek, she leaned into the touch.

"It's… overwhelming. In the best possible way. And I want you to feel as I do. But everything I know about pleasing women comes from conversations with an unwell adventuress or braggarts in the army. It seems safe to say that neither is a reliable source."

"That—I have to agree with that assessment. So ask. I am all yours. Anything you wish to know, anything you wish to try, you need only ask."

"You're all mine?"

"I'm sorry, was that not clear? There's only you. In here, out there. Just us."

"Celine…" I could only kiss her for that. There was no other response that could possibly convey the way her words wrapped around my heart and squeezed, nearly painful, but lovely all the same.

She made a pleased little hum against my lips, pressing herself closer. I could feel the ghost of her breasts brushing against my chest through the impossibly fine fabric of her chemise. A promise of something more.

"Tell me," she murmured in my ear before tonguing the lobe in a way I never would have thought to enjoy, but now couldn't imagine life without.

Summoning courage I did not know I possessed, I slid a hand up her thigh to cup the crevice between her legs. The place I wanted to live in, die in, be buried in for eternity.

"I want to taste you." My request was an ineloquent blurt, but there was no mistaking my meaning.

A pleased groan burst from her before I had a moment to second guess myself. Her assent was more moan than word.

Swallowing harshly, I tugged eagerly at the hem of her chemise. She pulled the tie of the bow holding the scrap of fabric on her frame. The widened neck slid off one shoulder instantly, revealing a pert breast.

Before the thought was fully formed in my head, my lips found her nipple, tonguing, tasting, worshiping. Her back arched as she pressed herself closer with an encouraging moan.

Between the two of us, we were able to remove the fabric entirely with minimal interruption to my efforts. That, of course, left her bare for my gaze. Her need directly above my own, separated only by my trousers.

I was going to die. There was no way I would survive the night. My heart had ceased beating and was certainly not going to start again.

I was more than all right with that.

To die with her taste on my lips, her silken skin under my fingers, the sight of her unclothed and mussed in my arms—it was a privilege I did not deserve.

Her curls were tangled from my hands, hanging in luxurious waves around us, shrouding us. My kisses had left her lips, neck, and chest reddened, and I felt a purely male pride at the sight. A few yellowing bruises decorated her abdomen, remnants from that awful night. Stark reminders of how close I came to losing her, my Celine. Inches away, from never having this or any of the thousands of other moments I wanted in her arms.

I ducked, pressing the gentlest of kisses to each one of her battle wounds.

"Will," she whined, trying to guide me by my hair back to her lips or her breasts or her neck, I doubted she knew which either. In a superhuman feat, I refused her, instead catching her waist and flipping her back onto the cloud-soft bed beneath me.

She gave me an arch grin in response, one I could not help but reciprocate before taking her lips with my own. It was impossible, of course, to express my feelings for her in words, or even in kisses. But I was never one to give up without trying.

She tasted of sunshine, and hope, and something warm, sensual, spicy. I could only imagine the desperation she tasted from me.

Far from repulsed though, she clawed at me, dragging me closer still.

"Will, I want to feel you." She clung to my back with surprising strength, pulling herself off the bed to where my chest hovered over hers.

"You'll be crushed. Do you have any idea how devastated I would be if I crushed you now?" I answered, inspecting her jaw once again with my lips.

"Please?"

"No, 'm busy." I had every intention of finding my way to her feminine folds any moment now. But there were a great number of curves to map with my lips and tongue, lest I be lost forever in the heaven that surely awaited between her thighs. Of course, that would be no great hardship.

The divot in her clavicle, the mound of each breast with their very distracting peaks, the valley below them. The river between each of her ribs where the lightest glisten of sweat clung for me to taste. The cleft above each hip bone. Each and every one was charted and explored until her hands fisted in the bed coverings and every exhale was a pant of my name.

There I found it, my destination, my shelter, her surely delectable center. Instinct drove me. All enthusiasm and no finesse when I found myself buried between her thighs. Here was ambrosia, manna, something better. She was hot and wet and all mine, all for me.

I was lost to her, the only grip I had on reality was the hand that somehow found its way tangled up in hers.

It was a gloriously fortunate thing that she was so damn expressive. Whimpers and sighs escaped her lips. Fingers threaded through my hair, fisting when I moved just right. Her hips chased my mouth, directing me to the places that were most pleasing to her. She was a symphony, a ballet, a revelation.

After a close call between her hips and my nose, I pressed our joined hands low on her belly to keep her where I wanted her. With each passing swipe of my tongue, my confidence grew. I drew her leg over my shoulder with my free hand, spreading her even wider for my appreciation.

Following the instruction of her hand in my hair, her stilted movements, and her whimpers, I was fairly certain she was closing in on release. Finding herself ever closer to that peak where she would collapse into a beautiful heap in my arms. I slid one finger, two, into her channel where she welcomed me eagerly.

Her whimpers and moans were gaining in frequency and pitch, and her fingers tangled in my hair were hovering on just the right side of painful. Not that I would have complained. That would have required stopping and I had no intention of doing that, possibly ever.

Sooner than I hoped, her core tightened on my fingers with a keening gasp. Her back bowed and her thigh shook by my ear. It overtook her with such a suddenness that I froze, unsure if it meant what I thought it might. Seconds, perhaps minutes later, she collapsed into the covers, boneless.

Indecision clouded my mind once more. I did not know the protocol for this. I knew I wanted to keep going, to drag her up and over the crest again and again until time ran out.

Before I could revel too far in my discomfort, she tugged at my hair once more, this time purposeful. Following her instructions, silent or otherwise, had served me well thus far so I followed my map back up. If I took detours to see my favorite sites once more, Celine certainly wasn't complaining.