Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

L eo was brushing out the coat he’d worn to dinner—he’d declined to bring along a valet for the trip—when a timid knock came on the door to the accommodations he’d been given at the George.

“Nothing else is needed, thank you,” he called. The innkeeper’s wife, anxious to impress a high-ranking guest, had been wearing a path to his door with tea, then brandy, warm water for his washstand, fresh linens, and assurances that the bed hangings had been recently aired, the ropes of the bedstead recently tightened, and the feather mattress atop it all newly stuffed, but if there were anything else she could do to please his lordship, he was only to ask.

Lillian had been right. This was a precursor to what he could expect now that he had gone from being plain Leo Westrop of the Wiltshire Westrops to the next male in line for the Waringford title.

Lillian. An awareness prickled the back of his neck, as though he picked up on her presence before her voice floated through the wooden portal.

“Leo—it’s me.”

She sounded plaintive. He was swinging open the door before he considered the wisdom of bringing her into a room where they were alone, and there was a bed. Then he was wishing he could shut his eyes to the sight of her, but too late: the image was already seared into his brain. Lillian in dishabille, her hair unpinned and tumbling in golden sheaves over her shoulders, in the simple printed cotton gown she’d worn that day but without the neckerchief or apron to distract the eye from the shape of her.

He looked down. She was without stockings, a pair of velvet embroidered house slippers encasing her feet.

“You’ll catch a draft.” He curled his hand around her upper arm and pulled her into the room. “Lillian—what are you doing here?”

“Hex locked me out of the room.” She held a hand to the bodice of her gown as if afraid it would fall off her.

“That can’t be.”

She nodded. He took her chamberstick, with its flickering candle, and set it on the small table beside its own. The two flames bowed and leaned toward one another, as if in cozy conversation.

“I went outside to use the necessary and splash my face in the tub. Mrs. Eyres says they keep it full of fresh water from the Avon for those who like a cold plunge for health purposes. I didn’t plunge all the way, of course.” Her teeth chattered lightly at this admission, but she didn’t feel cold to his touch. Darker gold edged her hairline, as if with damp, and her cheeks bloomed a bright apple-red, but the arm he held was flushed with warmth. On the hot side, rather.

He knew he ought to let go of her. He didn’t.

“Why would Hester lock the door?”

“She’s nervous in public places. I told her I’d knock when I returned. But I think she fell asleep.”

Leo stared, trying to force his brain into logical paths. His brain clung stubbornly to various observations that brought his mental machinery to a halt. The deep blue of her eyes in the candlelight. The smell of geraniums rising from her skin—her soap or toilet water, it must be. The frog orchid red of her lips, and the way her quick breaths made her breasts rise and fall. He couldn’t look at her breasts. He’d come completely undone.

“Mrs. Eyres would have a key.”

“Hex drew the latch on the inside.”

“Then we must wake her up.”

“I knocked as loud as I dared. She’s a very sound sleeper.” Lillian bit her lip, and he wanted to follow her teeth with his own. “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d simply accepted my parents’ offer to stay at the Diana House.”

“They didn’t have a bed for you. Or Hester.” Leo had arranged their rooms at the George himself, feeling he’d won something by having Lillian near him. As if he could show her parents they had a rival now for her attention. Her affections.

He hadn’t anticipated he would have her with him. Lust rose and circled like a sniffing dog.

“Do you want me to try and wake Hester?” Somehow, his hand was still anchored to her arm. And he’d begun drawing slow circles on her bare flesh with his thumb. She was soft and warm. The darkness at the edge of the room crept closer, encircling them.

She tipped up her face. “I…I suppose so.”

She stood completely still, save for the rise and fall of her breath. She was as ensnared in the moment as he was.

His hand, he observed, was drawing her closer. His body obeyed an inevitable logic that his mind pretended not to see. Lillian needed to be close to him. That was all.

“Or.” His voice didn’t sound his own, a deep rumble, raw with desire. “You could wait here, and we could try again in a few minutes.”

“I suppose we could.”

He raised a hand to her other arm, holding her in place, her breasts inches from his chest. His eyelids felt heavy. His entire body felt heavy, a thick heat pooling in his groin.

He could not ravish Lillian Gower in his chamber at the George. Even if it was a spacious chamber, with timber planks lining the high ceiling, the walls paneled with a warm, dark wood, the bed a shadowed alcove, beckoning. He must not seduce Lillian.

“Brandy?” His voice grated, painful, because it wasn’t producing what his body wanted him to say.

Her teeth burrowed into her lip. “I am unaccustomed to spirits.”

“It’s a rhubarb brandy. Mrs. Eyres’ own.”

“Very well, then.”

There was only one glass on the tray. Leo poured her a splash. Her fingers grazed his when he handed it to her, and a spark leapt up his arm, lighting a wildfire. He took a gulp straight from the bottle.

“Oh. This is delicious. Much like the shrub that our housekeeper in St. Athan makes.”

There was nowhere to sit but on the bed, so she perched tentatively on the high mattress. Leo tore his eyes away. Lillian. On his bed .

“Tell me about St. Athan,” he growled.

“My parents have a cottage in town. It’s quite cozy, two floors, old stone and lovely carvings. The manor where my uncle lives is not far, so we see him often. Aunt Giles lives with him and keeps his house. Hester spends more time with us, usually.”

“I have noticed you are practically sisters.” He took another bracing swig. The brandy wasn’t nearly strong enough to burn some sense into him. “Where will you live when you are married to this cousin?” Think of her married. Think of her as out of bounds. Belonging to another man.

No . His very being rebelled. Lillian belonged to him .

Her brows knit. “My presumed marriage, very far in the future? I suppose, in time, we will live in Gileston Manor. It would be most comfortable for Hester, and if my husband does become the baronet…” She made a face.

“Lucky bastard. Why don’t you wish to be married sooner?”

She sipped her drink as if to draw strength from it. Her gaze touched and tangled with his, then veered away, as if she could sense his sinful thoughts. Could see he was, in his mind, stripping her gown and her shift from her, then grazing his mouth over all the soft, splendid skin beneath.

Her scowl turned fierce. “Because I want what any man is allowed to want. Liberty to pursue my interests. Work that engages me. Though there is the matter of how I support myself doing so, I suppose. At the moment we live on the generosity of my uncle.”

“We are all of us dependent on another for our liberty,” Leo said bitterly, and followed this with another draw from the bottle.

He lowered his hand to find her before him, a whisper of soft cotton, hair gleaming like silk. She took the bottle, fingers sliding over his, and poured herself another splash.

“Careful how you tipple,” he warned. “You’ll end up top-heavy.”

“You’ll be there first,” she answered, her lips turned up at the corner.

Those dimples. Hell’s teeth. He wanted to bite them, and her full, red lips.

Abruptly she sat on the bed. “Hester’s angry with me.”

“Why?”

“Because she wants to go with me—you—us—to Uffington.” She tossed back a swallow of brandy like an experienced sailor, then covered her cough.

Leo turned this over in his head. Things were admittedly a bit fuzzy up there, furniture moving about. Lillian had a way of bending gravity so that his attention focused on her.

“Well, let her come with us.”

She lowered the glass, her eyes huge. “You mean that?”

“Why not? She’s not an infant. And you will require a chaperone. I can’t simply cart a beautiful, unmarried woman into the midst of my camp and expect everyone to believe she’s my assistant.”

She scowled at him. “I will be your assistant. If you’ll have me. I did put you rather on the spot, and if you don’t want?—”

“I want you,” he said swiftly. “As my artist, that is. But see here, if I bring the woman I intend to marry?—”

She narrowed her eyes. “An engagement formed and continued under false pretense.”

“If I bring you under those conditions,” Leo pressed on, “no one will believe I’m not also taking you to bed.”

There it was, out in the open. What he wanted. Her, in his bed. Like this, except with less clothing, and more contact of skin to skin.

She sucked in a breath, and he tracked the rise and fall of those beautiful breasts. God, she was killing him.

“Very well. Hester will be pleased. And my parents. They wouldn’t like to be expected to look after another person.”

“Yes, you’ve said that is not their strength. Yet they certainly seemed to rely on your skills today.”

“I learned from a very early age that if I were useful, I would merit their attention. I would be included in their endeavors.”

“Do they support you in your endeavors?”

He knew the answer to that. She’d come to him, an utter stranger, for help in publishing her florilegium. Though her parents would certainly have the contacts, and ought to have the interest, she’d needed him.

If only she needed him in other ways.

Outrage rose within him, a slow burn like the brandy. They ought to take an interest. Their daughter was the most intelligent, self-possessed, clever woman he’d ever met, and she was so beautiful his eyes ached from looking at her.

She set her glass on the table beside her chamberstick. The light of the gentle flame kissed her cheek, as he longed to do.

“I ought to go back to Hex,” she whispered.

He rose when she did. “You ought to,” he agreed. “Because if you stay here, I am going to forget I am a gentleman.”

“Indeed?” She searched his eyes. Her mouth parted, lips trembling slightly. “What will happen then?”

He lowered his head. She didn’t draw away, merely tipped up her chin. Her eyelids drifted closed, and her trusting anticipation was so sweetly erotic that he felt his restraint pushed to the limit.

“Run. Run now, Lillian. Or you’ll find out.”

He whispered the words over her lips, and her shoulders shivered.

“Show me,” she breathed, lifting her hands to his neck, and he was lost.

He’d forgotten why he wasn’t supposed to touch her. She was here before him, and every thread of his body whispered that he had won her fairly and could claim her as his right.

He would only kiss her. He was certain she was an innocent. She had put herself into his hands, brought him a deliverance he didn’t know he needed in offering to support his dig, and he would not spoil her for the life she wanted. When she left him and moved on to another— A growl rose in his throat.

He gave into temptation and fastened his teeth on that luscious lower lip of hers. The small, surprised sound she made drained blood from his head and sent it rushing to his nether regions.

“You are delicious,” he muttered. “You taste like sugar.”

“That’s the brandy.”

She met his kiss, practiced now, and the fit of their mouths teased his hunger to craving. Her gown was no barrier at all as he pulled her against him; he could feel every curve of supple flesh. She’d found him undressed, down to his shirt, his pantaloons half-unfastened; all he need do was open his falls and he could be inside her, what he’d been aching for since their kiss yesterday when she nearly rode him to climax against the wall of the Basing House garden. Inside her, where he’d wanted to be since that kiss in the Physic Garden. No, since the short peck she’d delivered in the glasshouse, the one that told him this woman lit a spark in him no one else had ever done.

He'd wanted her, on some deep, unacknowledged level, since she stood from the chair in his library, holding that book, rising like Venus from the sea and bringing love and pleasure into his life, beauty like he’d never known.

“Lillian.” His breath was ragged, his heart pounding fiercely. Simply kissing her honed his need to a fierce edge. That, and the way her legs parted slightly beneath her gown so he could press against her softness as if she were ready to receive him. As if she wanted this.

He framed her face with kisses. “If you don’t want this…if this isn’t real…” If she were playing with him, letting him play with her, and didn’t share this same ache—he’d rather she set him on fire and leave him to burn into ash. He didn’t want to be alone in this, so helpless to the sensation of her in his arms, so desperate to have her that he couldn’t form words.

“I want this,” she whispered. Her breath touched his neck, a curl of heat. “I want you , Leo.”

That unleashed him, and with a growl he pulled her day gown over her head. The soft fabric peeled from her like the cloth from a pudding, revealing the deliciousness beneath. Her eyes widened, and the reflexive clench of her thighs, the stiffening in her spine, told him not to yank her shift from her, not just yet. Not to raise the hem and drive straight into her, as the beast in him longed to do. Satisfaction was there, so close. He could take it. She would let him.

That would be gobbling the pièce de resistance without enjoying the entrées that came before. Like boring straight through to the heart of a barrow without observing the many layers of treasure on the way down. Leo pushed his hands into her hair, a glorious fall of silk, and kissed her until her body melted again to the buttery place she’d been. Until she leaned into him, ardently kissing him back, her soft mewl telling him she was hungry, too.

“I want to take you to bed, Lillian.”

She lifted her face, her cheeks flushed, her lips reddened from his lips and teeth, and that light of unholy mischief entered her eyes, the one that told him she was about to be pert. “Then what?”

God, he loved this look on her. “I’ll show you,” he growled, and pushed her toward the bed.

Her neck tasted of almonds. Her collarbone and the delicate skin beneath, lemon paste. Her shift was fine white linen, with a low scoop to the neckline that bared the rise of her pale white breasts. Leo covered the exposed skin with kisses, dragged his tongue through the cleft between them. She squirmed, her breath coming faster.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” He pushed the thin fabric aside and brought out the heavy globe of her breast, the nipple pink like the inside of a shell, pointed and hard with her desire. For him. Then he brought out the other and sat back on his heels, gazing in admiration.

“Perfect,” he said. “Works of art. It’s a crime to conceal these. You should walk about with them always exposed.”

She squirmed again, the blush in her cheeks deepening, her eyes dark. “You’re absurd. That would be vulgar.”

“It would be a service to all mankind. God, Lillian. You’re…you should be carved in stone and put in a public plaza, so everyone could look at you.”

“Look at my bosom, you mean?”

He palmed her breasts, cupping one in each hand, interested in the way her nipples puckered further under his perusal. “I want a carving of you, a three-quarter bust that goes down to here.” He touched a finger to her ribs. “And I will put you in my library to gaze upon when I can’t look at you in life.”

He slid his hands over the heavy globes, as reverent as if he handled an ancient masterpiece. Lillian’s breasts were unparalleled perfection. The arrows of her nipples scraping his palms sent a bolt of lust to his groin so intense it was painful.

She tried to cover herself, and he grasped her hands and threaded her fingers through his. “I gave you a chance to run, and you didn’t.” He anchored her hands on either side of her body and leaned over her. “Now you must pay the price.” And he did what he’d dreamed of for so long and set his mouth to Lillian’s perfect breasts.

Her gasp made him lift his head, fearing he’d hurt her. “You wish me not to?”

She screwed her eyes shut, pulling her lip between her teeth. “You…may proceed. If you wish.”

“I do wish. Fervently.” He nibbled his way across the smooth, silken flesh, then traced paths with his tongue. Her heart picked up tempo; he felt the echo of it beneath his lips. He closed his mouth over a nipple and sucked, and she cried out.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, it’s…”

“How does it feel, Lillian?”

She bucked beneath him, twisting her hips as if she wanted to turn away, yet arching her back as if she might press her breasts further into his mouth. “I don’t…I don’t have words.”

He sucked and licked and nibbled, feasting on her, surfeiting on her sweetness. Her soft moans and panted breaths inflamed him. She wanted him. His woman reveled in his touch, tossing on the same tempest of lust and pleasure that gripped him.

Her fingers sank into his shoulders, through the thin fabric of his shirt, tugging, pleading. He murmured around the nipple in his mouth, teasing with his tongue. “What do you want, my sweet?”

“I don’t know ,” she moaned.

“I might.”

He dragged a finger over the soft flesh covering her ribs, swept back and forth across the swell of her belly, squeezing gently. He loved how she filled his hands, her curves rich and full. Her breath hitched as he pulled the hem of her shift up her thigh. Her legs were as creamy as the rest of her, more meadows of sweet flesh he wanted to graze. He could, tormenting them both, but he was eager to reach her core. He pulled the hem up to her waist so he could gaze fully.

Her curls below were a darker gold, and he wanted to rub his face in them, see if they were as soft as the rest of her. She tensed her thighs as he ran his hand through the golden field.

“Can I touch here?”

She screwed her eyes shut, fingers clutching his shoulders, body arching toward him. He loved her concentration, guessed how her entire focus had funneled to his fingers. “Yes.”

“And here?” He slid his hand lower, where she was warm and slick and ready.

“Oh,” she gasped, her eyes flying open. “ Oh. ”

He lapped at her breasts, not ready to leave them, while he explored with his fingers. So delicate. So lush. His cock throbbed in readiness, reaching toward her, toward bliss. “Tell me when I’ve got it right, darling.”

He found the bud hidden within her silken petals, and her eyes drifted closed. “Oh. There.”

“And now tell me what will please you,” he whispered.

She pulled his head toward her breasts and squirmed around his hand. “Harder.” Her voice was a wisp. “Faster. Oh, Leo, it feels so good .”

Her response maddened him, fanned the flames to a roaring inferno. He drew as much of her as he could into his mouth, sucking hard on her nipple. She begged and moaned and thrashed, gripping the bedclothes in her fists, pushing herself against his hand as she rode him. Her abandon was glorious to behold. He pressed his cock between the bed and her thigh so he felt every twist, every tremor as she climbed toward her climax, and when it broke over her, he nearly came too, so beautiful was her release, so deeply was he in tune with her body.

He popped her nipple free from his mouth and rubbed his hand across her belly, enjoying the flutter of her muscles. She opened her eyes, gazed with wonder into his face, and laughed aloud. He took himself in hand, certain he could come by her expression alone.

“You look so smug.” She traced a finger along his cheek.

“You enjoyed that.”

“I did.” Her eyes drifted down his body, where his shirt hung loose, to his hand on his groin. “I—you didn’t…”

“I enjoyed every moment along with you, darling. I assure you.” He pulsed at the sight of her watching him, her fascinated look. A few strokes, and he’d be finished.

She reached out a hand. “I want to please you. It’s your turn.”

“There are no turns , darling. Only togetherness.” At least with her, he was sure of this.

She turned on her side. “Let me touch you, Leo.”

She pushed his hand away and regarded his member, which bobbed helpfully under her gaze, as if nodding at her to continue. “Yours is much larger than Timkin’s. And prettier.”

“ Pretty— ” He bit back a wave of furious jealousy. Hot rage stiffened him further. “Is he the one who?—?”

She shook her head, then peeked up at him shyly. “I never wanted to touch him ,” she said.

His smugness deepened. He was her first . He would be her best, her most memorable.

Her only, if he could.

He let that thought melt away as she wrapped her hand around him. “Show me,” she commanded.

He loved how bossy she was about what pleased her. She was with him, as attentive to his body as he was to hers. He clasped his hand around hers and led her in the rhythm he liked, and within a few heartbeats he was there, arching his back as he thrust into her hand, sucking in his breath at the relief of release. In the nick of time he caught a strip of linen from the washstand and spilled into it.

She watched with rapt attention as he quickly cleaned himself. “I thought there was more of a mess,” she said.

Rage and jealousy speared through him again, spoiling the satisfaction. Until she reached out and lightly stroked his spent member, sending a fresh arrow of interest deep into his groin.

He tossed the cloth back on the stand. “Normally there is. If some time has passed. But I’ve been servicing myself regularly since our night at Highcastle House.”

Rose bloomed in her cheeks as her lashes lifted and she met his gaze. “What?”

“All I need do is think of your breasts in that gown,” he told her.

She blinked, the blush heightening, and he expected her to shy away, playing the maiden. But there was that devil in her eyes again. “Indeed,” she said. “And what else do you think of when you—” She waved a hand toward his groin. “You know.”

He laughed, fastening his falls and rolling toward her. She tugged down her shift, covering herself, and he smoothed a line from her ribs to waist to thigh, marveling at the lush landscape of her. “What do I imagine when I pleasure myself with thoughts of your body?” he purred in her ear.

She tensed, her voice breathless. “Yes.”

“Let’s save that for another time, or I’ll find myself desiring you again.”

She touched his face, and her expression sobered as her gaze traced his features, brow, nose, lingering on his mouth. “I’m afraid I will have that problem,” she said. “Now that we’ve…I already thought about kissing you all the time. Now I’ll think about that .”

He pulled her against him. “About me pleasuring you?”

“About us pleasuring one another,” she said shyly.

He turned his face into her hair, sinking his nose into the rich softness. He wanted to live and die with the scent of geraniums surrounding him.

“Do you need to go back to Hex?” he asked softly. “Or can you stay?” She hesitated, her brow furrowing, and he touched her lip. “For a bit.”

She relaxed her frown. “I suppose I can stay for a bit.”

He blew out the candles, then climbed into bed. She turned toward him as he slid an arm about her, then pulled the coverlet over them both.

He pressed a kiss to her lips, overcome at the sense of completion. Lillian, pleasured, in his bed. His body hummed with satisfaction and a fierce, deep delight. He wanted her like this always, wrapped in his arms. He wanted to slide into her and stay there.

His cock stirred, interested at that idea, but he pushed the lust down and put a lid on it. He needed to proceed slowly with her. He couldn’t devour her completely in one go, let her see the feral beast within him. He would lure her gently, one morsel at a time, until she came willingly and whole-heartedly into his arms. Choosing him. Wanting him more than she wanted anything else.

If only she would.