Chapter Sixteen

Ophelia very nearly hadn’t had the gumption to ask him that question, but she was very glad she had.

The problem, she thought to herself before his ministrations made thinking impossible, was that she was perilously close to falling for the wicked marquess.

Bad enough that she’d spent the last several hours day-dreaming about his mouth and his hands and his – well, the rest of him.

But this evening had been downright dangerous.

He was charming, yes. But witty, interesting, and good to his mother, for heaven’s sake! She couldn’t know those things about him. No good could come of it.

What if she did something irrevocably foolish like fall in love with him? She was a by-blow. Born on the wrong side of the blanket to a French mother.

The only thing that could come of losing her heart to Caleb was pain and destruction. For she’d either have it crushed when he inevitably tired of her, married respectfully, and left her behind. Or worse, she’d find that she was as weak as her mother, and she’d live on the periphery of his life begging for scraps of affection and bearing children who would suffer the fate she’d lived.

She had come here tonight because she’d been unable to stay away from him, even thinking that he was a rakehell devoid of all decency.

Now that she knew that wasn’t the case, it simply wouldn’t do to stay here.

Caleb pulled back suddenly to look into her eyes, the glittering blue of his own holding her captive.

“Where’s your mind, Siren?” he rasped.

Ophelia found she couldn’t speak, so she stared mutely at him like an imbecile.

“I’ve thought of nothing but this all day,” he said. “But I want you with me.”

She was torn, her head and her heart duking it out, while the feel of him pressed against her played havoc with her senses.

He reached out and stroked his knuckles along her jaw with a tenderness that took her by surprise.

And that did it. She knew she was fooling herself to imagine she had the strength to get up and walk away from him.

“I’m with you,” she said softly and was rewarded by the hard, demanding press of his lips against her own.

Just as it had every other time, his kiss sent her up in flames.

Her limbs were the consistency of honey as he reached down and repositioned her until she was straddling him, her skirts gathered clumsily at her thighs, her aching core pressed wickedly against his hardness.

It felt as though his hands were everywhere at once, plunging into her hair, sending pins flying, blazing a trail of fire down her throat, into the modest neckline of her gown.

Wrenching his lips from hers, he bent his head to press them against her throat, biting gently at the pulse that fluttered there.

“Caleb,” she gasped. “Please.”

She pressed herself boldly against him, desperate for him to relieve the aching that was growing inside as it had last night.

His black oath sounded muffled against her skin.

“You make me lose my mind,” he growled. “Lose all my famed finesse.”

“I don’t care,” she insisted breathlessly. “I’ve always thought finesse is overrated.”

Her words dragged a strangled laugh from him but did nothing to stem the tide of lust that drowned them both.

And it seemed that was all the encouragement he needed, for he lifted her from his lap long enough to unbutton his breeches, and then they were joined, fused together in a pleasure so exquisite that Ophelia couldn’t contain her sobs.

She felt frantic with the desire screaming through her body, the feel of him so different from last night but equally wonderful.

In only seconds the storm within her broke, and she was tossed into the maelstrom, barely registering his shout as he followed her over the edge.

Ophelia’s body felt weightless as she descended back to earth, and she could only burrow her head into his chest and try to catch her breath.

Caleb’s arms came around her, holding her tight and making her silly heart flutter.

It wanted a world where his arms would always hold her close.

This was precisely why she needed to go.

“One of these days, I’m going to get you to a bed before we make love.” His voice rumbled in her ear, and her stomach flipped.

That meant he wanted to see her again, did it not?

She wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to look at him while she did so, lest she was reading too much into the statement.

“Twice is not enough, then?” She strove for nonchalance, but it was hard to tell if she sounded casual pressed against his heaving chest as she was.

His hand reached into her hair and tugged gently, lifting her eyes to his own.

“Twice is nowhere near enough with you, Siren,” he told her softly, and she couldn’t doubt the sincerity swimming in his eyes.

“Tomorrow evening we’ll dine at a proper table, and then I’ll make love to you in a proper bed.”

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

“Don’t you have one of your parties tomorrow evening? Your life seems to have become rather staid.”

His smile was positively heart-stopping.

“My life has become the very opposite of staid,” he argued. “And, no, I don’t have a party tomorrow evening. What’s more, I have no desire to have a party tomorrow. Or any other evening, for that matter.”

It felt very much like something was shifting between them.

Surely, he wasn’t changing his hedonistic habits because of her? That sort of wishful thinking would only lead to disappointment.

Ophelia cleared her throat.

“So, tomorrow?” she asked.

“I’ll count the minutes,” he whispered before pulling her closer to kiss her once more.