Chapter Twenty-Six

Fear and excitement threaded throughout Eleanor's body as she clung to the man who had lifted her off her feet as if she weighed no more than a bird. She had now embarked on a path from which she could never return.

What previously unknown sensations would he awaken in her body?

What if he found her inadequate? He must have bedded all manner of women. All the women she'd seen on his arm—from sophisticated, hungry widows, to bright, beautiful courtesans—would know exactly how to pleasure a man such as he. Oh, how she'd envied those women! What pleasure had he given them—and received in return?

And now, she, herself, was on the brink of that pleasure.

But she knew nothing of such things. Compared to those women, she was a mere child—an ignorant creature unable to hold a conversation in a drawing room, let alone attract such a virile, powerful man.

He stopped outside her chamber door, and Eleanor cringed, anticipating the moment when he'd set her on her feet with a laugh, then saunter back to his chamber, leaving her alone.

But he did not. He dipped his head, and his warm breath caressed her cheek.

"Eleanor…" His voice, low and husky, reverberated through her bones. "Inside this chamber, I will give of myself…" He brushed his lips against hers. "Inside this chamber, I shall honor the gift of your trust, if you'll bestow it upon me…"

Then he peppered her face with kisses, moving across her skin until he reached her neck, where he nuzzled her ear.

"Inside this chamber," he said, his voice a low growl, "I will show you what it is to be loved—thoroughly, completely…and very scandalously."

He nipped her earlobe, and the notion of his claiming ownership in such a primal fashion sent a lick of pleasure through her.

Then he steered her into her chamber, closing the door behind them to shut out the world.

"Before we proceed," he said, "I ask you to trust me—Eleanor."

Her name on his lips, spoken so tenderly, threatened to unleash the tears that swelled within her.

"You have my word, Eleanor—I shan't do anything that you don't wish me to, or anything that you won't take pleasure in. But I can do nothing without your trust." He took her hand. "Your trust is a precious gift—and it's not my right to demand it. It's a privilege that I pray with all my soul you'll gift me, if you deem me worthy."

Oh, heavens!

It was all too much. The surge of sensations threatened to overwhelm her, and she closed her eyes to retreat from the world.

"No, my Eleanor," he said, his voice laced with urgency. "Do not close your eyes—not to me."

But though she willed her courage to rise, it faltered at the notion of him looking into her eyes…into her soul.

"Eleanor…"

His soft whisper crawled into her mind, enveloping it in a tender embrace.

"You must look at me tonight," he whispered. "Only then will I know you've given me your consent—and your trust."

She clung to him as he moved forward and placed her on the bed. Then she drew in a sharp breath and opened her eyes.

Heavens!This was happening—really happening…

He caressed her cheek, and she met his gaze, steeling herself to withstand the intensity of his sapphire eyes.

"That's it, my darling," he whispered. Then he claimed her lips. She parted them, and he slipped his tongue inside, sweeping across her mouth in slow, tender caresses.

He lowered his hand, running delicate fingertips along her neck, across her throat, until he reached her neckline. Then he dipped his hand inside her gown. The first flush of shame disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a tiny pulse of pleasure that swelled inside her body as he curled his fingers to cup her breast.

"Do you take pleasure when I touch you, Eleanor?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good…very good…" He caressed the skin of her breast, moving his fingertips in ever-tightening circles until he reached the peak at the center—the little nub of flesh that had grown hard at his touch. Then he flicked it with his thumb, and she drew in a sharp breath at the fizz of pleasure. He claimed her mouth, silencing the cry in the throat.

"Mmm…" he murmured, his body vibrating against hers. "Are you taking pleasure from my attentions, Miss Howard?"

"It's lovely, Your Grace."

He withdrew his hand. "Must you disappoint me already?"

"D-disappoint?"

"I told you to call me Montague." He caught her chin and tipped it up. "May I undress you, Eleanor?"

Heat flooded her cheeks at so bold a request.

"I-I…" She hesitated, and he placed another kiss on her lips.

"You've no idea how much I relish the notion of tossing your skirts up and claiming you this very moment," he said. "But I promised to make love to you—not rut you. When we make love, I want there to be nothing between us. To be naked, in the arms of another—it's supposed to be the most glorious experience, and I want to share it with you."

"Supposed to be? D-don't you know?"

"No, my Eleanor," he said. "In that, if nothing else, tonight will be my first time."

If nothing else…

Once again, she was reminded of all the women he must have bedded—that she was merely the latest in a long line of conquests.

"Eyes on me, Eleanor," he said, his voice sharp. "Now—may I undress you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Deftly, he removed her gown, unlacing her stays until only chemise and stockings remained. She held her breath as he lifted her chemise over her head. Then he sat before her, hunger glittering in his eyes.

His gaze wandered over her naked body, until she could almost feel his touch. Then he smiled.

"A man is said to feast with his eyes before he tastes the dish placed before him."

"T-tastes?"

He flicked out his tongue and ran it along his bottom lip until it glistened. Then he dipped his head and captured her breast in his mouth. The swirling sensations of pleasure tightened into a hard knot, and she let out a low mewl.

"Ooh," she whispered. "M-Montague, what—Oh!"

A sharp cry escaped her lips as he sucked hard, drawing her nipple into his mouth. Sweet heaven—how was it that such sensations could be had from such a simple act?

"So responsive," he murmured, his hot breath rippling across her skin. Then he drew back, his gaze ravenous as he stared at her breast. "So perfect," he whispered. "So pink."

The ache in her center swelled at his gentle praise, and she squeezed her thighs together to ease it. He lowered his gaze to her thighs and ran a fingertip along the top of her stockings. Then he drew back, his eyes darkening as he stared at her naked form. Unable to conquer her shame at her nudity, she lifted her hands to cover her breasts, but he caught her wrists.

"No—Eleanor," he said, his voice thick and hoarse. "Remain where you are so that I may enjoy looking at you while I undress. Uncurl your hands and touch your thighs."

Her body moved in an instinctive desire to obey, and she placed her hands at the top of her thighs. Then he covered her hands with his and guided them toward her center, until the tips of her fingers touched the source of the ache, where the flesh was slick and hot. He slid his hand along her, and his fingertips brushed against her center, as if by accident—but the flare of triumph in his eyes spoke of his intent…

Wicked, pleasurable intent.

Then he withdrew his hands. "You must remain still, my love, though you may yearn to touch yourself."

His words ignited the very yearning he spoke of.

Sweet heaven!He was a master at seduction—and she a novice who could never hope to match him.

A knowing smile curved his lips while he peeled off his jacket, followed by his waistcoat and his necktie, with slow, deliberate movements, as if to prolong her agony.

The ache in her center pulsed again, and she shifted her hand to ease it.

"No," he chided. "You must be still. Pleasure must not come too soon—the longer the wait, the sweeter the release."

She held her breath while he removed the rest of his clothes, and her cheeks warmed at the sight of his firm, powerful—and very naked—body shimmering in the light of the fire. Shadows played across the planes of his muscles—muscles that nestled in pairs, covered with a light dusting of dark hair that grew thicker lower down, toward…

A delicious pulse of fear threaded through her as she caught sight of his manhood jutting out from a thick nest of curls, shifting faintly as if it carried his lifeblood.

Sweet Lord!It was so—so…

So big.

She shrank back, but he caught her hand.

"There's nothing to fear, Eleanor," he said. "Touch me."

"T-touch you?"

"Yes…" he breathed.

She reached forward and placed her hands on his chest.

"Oh, yes," he said, his voice a low growl. "That's good."

Emboldened by his praise, she began to caress his skin, running her hands along the contours of his chest, relishing the soft, downy hair under her fingertips. Then she slid her hand lower, where the hair grew coarser and his skin hotter, until her hand was inches away from the proud, jutting essence of him. She stilled her hand, staring at it.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "With this, I shall worship you."

She lowered her hand and wrapped her fingers around him. He caught his breath and stilled while she moved her fingers along the shaft—firm steel encased in soft, silken skin.

Then she squeezed, gently, and his body jerked.

"Oh, woman, you unman me!" He clamped his hand over hers. "No more, I beg you."

"D-did you not like it?"

"I liked it very much—but I fear that if you continue, I shall spend."

"Spend?"

"Aye, my love—and no man can call himself a gentleman if he cannot abide by the unbreakable rule of lovemaking."

"What unbreakable rule?"

"Ladies first," he said. "And now—I believe it's your turn."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back on the bed until she lay before him. Her thighs parted, and a flare of need pulsed in his eyes.

"My Eleanor is overdressed."

He placed a kiss at the top of her thigh, then peeled off the stocking, following a line of kisses along her leg until he reached her toes. Then he repeated the gesture with the other stocking and paused at the top of her thighs to inhale deeply.

"Ah—the sweet, sweet scent of woman. There's nothing in the world to compare—my delicious, clever darling."

He crawled along the bed, covering her body with his, and nudged her thighs apart with his knee.

"At last," he said. "You're ready."

She shifted her legs, and he slid between her thighs, moving slickly against her flesh, while a thick wall of pleasure pulsed deep inside her body, swelling with each heartbeat.

Dear Lord—no…

The myriad of sensations threatened to overwhelm her, and she closed her eyes, retreating into her mind, fighting the desire raging through her body.

Then he stilled.

"Eleanor," he said, "I shall go no further until you can look at me—until I look into your eyes and see no pain."

"Montague, I—"

"Only when you trust me completely will I take you."

She opened her eyes. Two sapphire pools stared back at her, filled with desire. Then he smiled and began to move against her, and the tide of pleasure swelled at the delicious friction. The pleasure began to crest, and a wave of panic rippled through her. She drew in a sharp breath and lowered her gaze.

Almost immediately he stopped. She glanced up to see him looking at her, raw agony in his eyes. His jaw bulged as if he gritted his teeth, and his whole body trembled with restraint at the spike of pleasure. Then he moved again, and she closed her eyes once more.

He stilled once more, his arms trembling as he held his body above her.

Then she understood.

He was waiting for her—to be certain of her trust, despite his own needs.

Did he show the same consideration to every woman he made love to?

"No," he said.

Sweet Lord!She'd voiced her fears aloud.

"I've never shown such consideration—because this is the first time I have truly made love."

His words shattered her fears, and she lifted her gaze to his, no longer afraid to bare her soul—and, for a moment, they simply stared at each other.

Then he thrust forward, and she felt a tight pinch between her thighs.

"Hush," he whispered. "There's my brave soul."

At length, she relaxed, letting her body accommodate him.

"Good girl."

Pleasure swelled within her at his gentle praise, spoken in a deep growl. Then he began to move, gently at first, shifting in and out, until the pleasure coiled in her insides, thickening and swelling.

"This body was made to be mine," he said, "made to be pleasured…"

He increased the pace, and she parted her legs further to draw him deeper in.

"Oh, you wondrous creature!" He plunged inside her, and she arched her back, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Oh, that's it!" he cried, his movements becoming more frenzied. Then he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck protruding with the strain. Mouth open, he continued to thrust, and a primal growl shuddered through his body.

Then his breathing grew more ragged. Eleanor thrust her hips up, and her body disintegrated as pure pleasure burst inside her.

"Montague!"

She threw back her head and screamed as a great wave washed back and forth, pulling her to pieces.

He plunged into her again, roaring out her name as he filled her completely. Then he drew her to him and fell forward, his voice growing hoarse while he continued to thrust, weakly, until his groans of need quietened into the satisfied little grunts of a primal beast who, having claimed his mate, was now replete with pleasure.

Then he sighed, and her heart almost cracked at the expression in his eyes, which glistened with moisture.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered.

"A little, at first," she said. "There's an ache—but it's a delicious ache."

He began to withdraw, and she lifted her legs and wrapped them around him.

"Please," she whispered. "Stay inside me a little longer."

"I'll stay all night if you wish it, Eleanor."

"Thank you."

He smiled and shifted onto his side, still inside her. Then she nestled against his chest, relishing the warmth of his body, and drifted into a doze.