Chapter Twenty-Six

I would not relish being turned down by you. Hannah tossed to one side. I would not relish being turned down by you. She shifted onto her back, the soft mattress no more comfortable than a bed of rock. Why had she not picked up on him saying that before? Had he said it flippantly or with true meaning? Had it been a hint as to the depth of his feelings? Could they possibly be as deep as hers?

She eyed the cornicing on the ceiling, the swirls faintly visible thanks to the light seeping in through the gap in the curtain. The night had proven clear and bright, with a multitude of stars freckling across the sky. She had spent a good hour or so staring at them until she had given up and retreated to bed.

She found no rest there, however. Instead her mind had suddenly latched on that one phrase of Red's.

I would not relish being turned down by you.

If that were true...

Hannah huffed out a breath and closed her eyes. If that were true, there was nothing she could do about it now. He was abed, and it had to be past midnight.

The encounter with Barnaby had been a blessing really. She recalled their last meeting when he had followed her about like a little lost dog. He was not at all interesting to her, and she suspected he only liked her because he seldom had female company. In spite of being mildly attractive, he did not have the charm to make female friends.

When he had asked to court her, she had turned him down as politely as she could. Goodness, she had only been young and certainly not interested in men or boys. Unfortunately, his response had reflected his lack of charm and had only sealed her impression of him. The insults he had thrown at her of being bookish and a bluestocking had dented her pride a little, but the words had been hurtful enough for her not to consider that there might have been truth behind it. Bluestocking, yes. Bookish, indeed. But this idea of her missing out on things had failed to register.

Until recently.

Until Red.

This journey—this wild, inconvenient, uncomfortable journey—had opened her eyes. Her thoughts were no longer merely on the stone but on other things, like what would she do next, what could her next accomplishment be? What would bring her happiness in life?

She was fairly certain being at Red's side. Whatever he offered, she knew life would never be dull with him.

Exhaling again, she pushed up to sitting and snatched a robe her aunt had lent her. Slinging it around her shoulders but failing to do it up, she trudged downstairs and out of the rear door to the gardens.

The night was not cold, but it touched her skin like cool silk, refreshing her. Underfoot, the grass was dewy. She wriggled her toes into it. When she peered up at the sky, more stars appeared. The moon was not even a half crescent as though stepping aside to let the stars have their moment. She stared up at them until her neck hurt then strolled down to the orangery.

The trees about her rustled, and she stilled. A bat swooped out of one, flying in a loop before vanishing and reemerging with a second. Hannah pressed a hand to her heart and laughed at herself.

"Something funny?"

She whirled, keeping that hand to her furiously beating heart. It only took her a moment to register the baritone that sent a shiver down her spine.

In only a shirt and breeches, Red was in as much of a state of undress, entirely inappropriate for strolls around the garden, but perfect for midnight walks when one could not sleep, she supposed.

"What are you doing out here?"

She eyed his tousled hair and absorbed the sound of his slightly gritty voice. "I could not sleep."

"Why?"

Somehow she suspected he wanted more than a mere shrug of an answer. His gaze was on hers, unwavering. "I was thinking," she said softly.

"As was I."

"Of what were you thinking?" she forced herself to ask.

His gaze flickered down to her chemise. It was not the first time he had seen her in one, but they had not very nearly made love before. Now the significance of a mere slip of fabric covering here skin was monumental. Neither of them could ignore her peaked nipples or how his gaze heated. How she could even sense that in the cool starlight, she did not know, but there was something in his slightly hooded eyes that told her he was not thinking of the beautiful night or the peaceful setting.

He was thinking of what was under her chemise, just as she was considering how much she longed to touch that firm, warm chest.

"Pardon?"

Hannah blinked. She could hardly recall what she had just said herself. "O-of what were you thinking?"

"I forget now," he said. Red moved closer. "I forget." He reached for her, and she swayed into him. "Christ, Hannah, you make me forget all sense."

She fit so perfectly against him it stole her breath.

He cupped her face. Against the starry night sky, he was perfect—a stark contrast of humanity against the magical.

"You make me forget all..." He scowled and searched for the word.

"Logic?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

"What does your gut tell you?"

She hardly had to think about her response. "That I want you to kiss me."

He groaned. "Your gut has never been so right."

Only the briefest moment passed before he lowered his mouth to hers, but it was too long. She moved onto tiptoes to close the gap more quickly. He gave her no quarter. This was no gentle teasing kiss. There was no consideration of her inexperience, and for that she was grateful. Red saw her as a woman to be desired and nothing more or less. He kissed her as though she inspired the sort of passion that was only written about.

Hannah wound her fingers into his hair, faintly aware of the soft silkiness. His hands gripped her face tight. He kissed her deeper, stole her breath. Desperation seared her. It was not enough. Would it ever be? She moved her body against him and searched for release, but there was none to be had. She skimmed a hand down his back and slipped it under his shirt.

Rewarded with the feel of smooth, warm skin and his muscles tensing beneath her fingers, she moaned against his mouth. Red released her face and used his hands upon her back to flatten her against the arousal that was pressing against his placket.

"What do you do to me?" he groaned when he briefly released her mouth.

"The same as you do to me I think." Her voice hardly sounded like her own. It belonged to another woman. A wanton, desirable woman who was finally taking what she wanted from life.

He pressed back her hair from her face with one hand, keeping her close to him with his other hand on the base of her spine. "Hannah, I cannot resist this time. You have weakened me."

"I do not wish for you to resist."

"There is something you must know first."

She gulped. "What is it?"

"Before I take you, you should know..." He blew out a breath.

"Red," she pressed, exasperated, hardly able to keep herself still in his hold. She pressed a reassuring kiss to his jawline.

"You should know that I have fallen in love with you, Miss Hannah St. John." His lips were quirked into a tilted smile as though he could not quite believe it had happened. She was not sure she could either.

Mouth ajar, she stared at him, searching his eyes for some sign that he was fibbing or teasing her. She had hoped, of course, and dreamed too. But being faced with the reality of a man like Red loving her was more than she could comprehend. She wanted to take a moment to study him, to take in his words and analyze them. Spend a few days studying what it was between them and think logically on it.

Of course, no such thing could be done and love could not be studied or looked at logically. That was something she had slowly begun to understand.

"Hannah?"

The worry in his eyes was quite charming but she would not let him suffer. She rallied her courage with a deep inhale. "You should know, Earl of Redmere, that I have fallen in love with you too."

The smile that broke across his face quite charmed her. He kissed her firmly, holding her to him as though making sure she did not try to change her mind.

Well, there was little chance of that.

"I don't know how it happened," he said. "How did you do it?"

She gave a secretive smile. "We bluestockings have our ways."

"If every bluestocking in England is like you, we men are sorely missing out. Yet I have my doubts. I know with utter certainty there is no woman like you, Hannah."

"For a rogue, you do have a way with words."

His grin turned wicked. "I have a way with touches too."

"You do?"

"I do." He eased his grip on her for a moment. "If you do not wish this, you must tell me now, because when I touch you, I lose my head."

Hannah remained silent. He grinned and kissed her again. For how long their lips and tongues met, she did not know. All she understood was it was the most satisfying and unsatisfying moment of her life. She was kissing the man she loved and he loved her in return, but she needed more. When would he give it to her?

Red's hand crept between them while he scattered kisses along her jaw and back to her mouth. Her lips felt plump and swollen from his attentions, and her body tingled from head to toe.

A hand curved over her breast, and she could have sworn she nearly swooned.

"Red," she murmured, urging him on. He pushed her robe from her shoulders and pulled the lace holding the neck of her chemise cinched around her shoulders. Whilst he kissed her fervently, his hand slid beneath the cotton. She shivered at the contact.

Red tore away and eyed his hand upon her breast. "I cannot take you here." His hand, however, said differently, playing over her skin and toying with her aching nipple.

"We cannot sneak back into the house. Aunt Ellen will surely hear." She glanced at the orangery. "There is a chaise in there. Will that be..." She gasped as he tweaked her nipple. "Will that do?"

"It will." He released her breast, kissed her forehead and took her hand.

Inside the orangery was darker than outside, but enough starlight seeped in through the long windows for her to find the chaise tucked at the back of the building, slightly hidden behind several plants. She eyed the chaise with trepidation. She had seen sex once or twice, usually up against a wall behind an inn, and of course animals cared little for whether or not they had observers, but she did not think either way looked enjoyable.

She twined her hands together and dropped her gaze. "I know it hurts. I understand," she spilled out.

Red chuckled and took her hands to press kisses to the back of each one. "It does not need to," he said.

She lifted her gaze to his.

"Hannah, I promise it does not need to, but you need to understand this. I am going to spend a long, long time preparing you. I am going to bring you so much pleasure that you will think you are utterly spent. Then I will bring you more. If I have to spend the rest of the night making you ready, I will because I would rather die than hurt you."

"Oh do not say that. Do not speak of death."

"Fine. I will speak of your pleasure, though." He nodded to the chaise. "Sit."

She did as he bid, and he came to kneel in front of her. Red pushed up her chemise and settled between her legs. He set one palm on her thigh and used the other to urge her forward. She held her breath, feeling stiff and useless.

"Relax," he murmured, touching her lips with his.

His kiss melted her tensions. She forgot her inexperience and recalled how desirable he made her feel. His fingers twined into the steadily loosening braid trailing over her shoulder. As he kissed her, the hand on her thigh worked up and then inward, moving ever closer to her sex. She could not help but rock her hips forward.

"Impatient girl," he said with a grin.

He kissed her deeper this time, twining his tongue with hers while his fingers traced the crease of her thigh then higher, connecting ever-so-gently with her folds. She jolted. He groaned into her mouth. Red's fingers upon her most private parts were entirely unlike her own. She felt more sensitive, more aware.

He stroked her gently before becoming bolder with his movements. She could hardly concentrate on kissing him back so he released her mouth, supported her with a hand to her neck and scattered kissed across her shoulder and neck.

His fingers did not enter her as she supposed they might do. Instead he stroked and circled over and over. Hannah moved with him, finding a unique rhythm that had the pleasure building quicker than she could have thought. He flicked her nub several times then went back to circling it. The pleasure broke slowly—one bright burst that seemed to go on. She shuddered in his arms as he slowed the pace.

"I am not sure who found the most pleasure there."

She lifted her head from where it had been resting on his shoulder. "It had to be me surely?"

He shook his head. "Watching you orgasm is quite the sight."

She nodded. She hoped she would get the chance to see him do the same before the night was over. Maybe he would teach her to pleasure him.

"Spread your legs and lie back," he ordered softly.

Too dazed to question the command, she slid back and parted her thighs. He lifted the chemise, baring her to the night air. Her mouth grew dry at the desire in his eyes.

Then he lowered his head.

"Red?" she asked, her voice strangled.

"You will still be sensitive," he warned. "But I will be gentle."

His hot mouth upon her juncture nearly made her bolt up from the chaise. She threw her hands wide and gripped the edge of the chair. He started gently, as promised, licking carefully along her crease. As she settled into it, he grew bolder, swiping his tongue up her before circling and sucking at her nub. It hardly took her any time to reach her peak, and she came hard against his mouth.

Panting, she pressed a hand against her damp forehead. He looked up at her with a smug grin. His hand slipped between her legs and he used the other to tug down her chemise and reveal one breast.

Her eyes widened. "Not again, surely?"

He nodded and brought his mouth down on her breast. He nibbled on her nipple, making the sensations in her body multiply. When his fingers connected with her sex again, she was hardly sure she could take it yet she was boneless and unable to do anything other than accept another orgasm.

When he did it again, he pressed his fingers into her. She arched into the touch. Relief coursed through her. This was what she had been craving, and it did not hurt one bit. He moved two fingers in and out of her before adding a third.

"Now?" she asked.

"Demanding woman," he teased and stood. "Yes. Now."

He tore his shirt over his head, revealing that wide chest covered with a scattering of dark hair that she had thought of many a time since his illness. Then he tugged off his boots and pulled down his breeches. She remained with her legs spread, so wanton, she could hardly believe this was her, and yet she could not care.

Her gaze landed on his arousal, thick and long and surrounded by dark hair. Her body gave a pulse of recognition. This is what you want, her body told her.

"Take me, Red," she begged.