Authors: Julia Quinn
“Do you think you can be quiet?” he teased, kissing her throat.
“I don’t know.”
He slid another finger inside of her. “What if I do this?”
She let out a little squeak, and he smiled diabolicaly.
“What about this?” he said huskily, nudging one side of the dressing gown with his nose. It fell over her shoulder, baring her breast, but only for a split second before his mouth closed over the tip.
“Oh!” She was a little louder that time, and she heard him chuckle against her skin. “You are wicked,” she told him.
He flicked against her with his tongue, then looked up wolfishly. “I never said I wasn’t.” He moved to her other breast, which was impossibly even more sensitive than the first, and Anne barely noticed when the dressing gown fell completely away from her body.
He looked up again. “Wait until you see what else I can do.”
“Oh, my God.” She couldn’t imagine what could be more wicked than this.
But then his mouth slid to the holow between her breasts, and he moved down . . . down . . . over her bely, her navel, down to . . .
“Oh, my God,” she gasped. “You can’t.”
“Can’t I?”
“Daniel?” She didn’t know what she was asking him, but before she knew it, he had lifted her up so that she was now sitting on the very edge of the bed, and his mouth was where his fingers had just been, and the things he was doing with his tongue, and his lips, and his breath . . .
Dear God, she was going to melt. Or explode. She clutched at his head so hard that he actualy had to loosen her grasp, and then finaly, unable to support herself any longer, she fell back, landing on the soft mattress, her legs still hanging over the side of the bed.
Daniel’s head poked up, and he looked very pleased with himself.
She watched as he stood, then gasped, “What are you doing to me?” Because he couldn’t possibly be finished. She ached for him, for something, for—
“When you reach it,” he said, yanking his shirt over his head, “it will be with me inside of you.”
“Reach it?” What in heaven did he mean,
reach it
?
His hands went to his breeches, and within seconds he was naked, and Anne could only stare at him in wonder as he stepped between her legs. He was magnificent, but surely,
surely
he didn’t think that was going to—
He touched her again, his hands wrapping around her thighs, puling her open to greet him.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. She did not think she’d ever said those words so many times as she had in the last few minutes, but if there had ever been a time to praise the Lord’s creation, this had to be it.
The tip of him nudged against her opening, but he didn’t push forward. Instead he seemed content merely to touch her, letting his manhood rub against her most sensitive skin, circling one way and then another. With every tiny stroke she felt herself open for him a little bit more, and then, seemingly without pressure, the entire tip slid inside of her.
She clutched at the bed, barely able to fathom the strangeness of the sensation. It felt as if he’d rip her apart if he pushed forward, and yet at the same time she wanted more. She had no idea how this could be so, but she couldn’t seem to stop her hips from pressing against him.
“I want all of you,” she whispered, shocking herself with her words. “Now.”
She heard his sharply indrawn breath, and when she looked up at him, his eyes were unfocused and glazed with desire. He groaned her name, and then he pushed forward, not all the way, but enough so that she once again felt that strange, marvelous sensation of being opened to him, being opened
by
him.
“More,” she said, and she wasn’t begging. She was commanding.
“Not yet.” He puled out a little, then pushed back in. “You’re not ready.”
“I don’t care.” And she didn’t. There was a pressure building inside of her, and it was making her greedy. She wanted all of him, pulsing within her. She wanted to feel him slide inside of her, sheathing himself to the hilt.
He moved again, and this time she grasped his hips, trying to force him closer to her. “I need you,” she moaned, but he strained against her, determined to take this at his chosen pace. His face was contorted with barely leashed desire, though, and Anne knew he wanted this as much as she did. He was holding back because he thought it was what she needed.
But she knew better.
He must have awakened something within her, some wicked, wanton, womanly part of her soul. She had no idea how she knew what to do; she didn’t even know that she was going to do it until it happened, but her hands came to her body and she grasped her breasts, pushing them together, squeezing them, all the while watching him watching her . . .
He stared at her with desire so palpable she could feel it on her skin. “Do it again,” he said hoarsely, and she did, boosting herself like a naughty corset, until she looked huge and plump and deliciously ripe.
looked huge and plump and deliciously ripe.
“Do you like that?” she whispered, just to tease him.
He nodded, his breath coming so fast that his movements were jerky and rough. He was still trying so hard to go slowly, and Anne knew she had to send him over the edge. He couldn’t stop watching her hands on her breasts, and the pure, primitive need in his eyes made her feel like a goddess, powerful and strong.
She licked her lips and let her hands roam to her nipples, catching each rosy tip between her middle and forefingers. The sensation was amazing, almost as electric as it had been when Daniel had been suckling her there. She felt a new jolt of pleasure, sparking between her legs, and she realized with surprise that she had caused this, with her own wicked fingers. Her head loled back, and she moaned with desire.
Daniel, too, was caught on the wave of need, and he finaly thrust forward, hard and fast, until their bodies were fuly joined. “You’re going to do that again,” he growled. “Every night. And I’m going to watch you . . .” He shuddered with pleasure as he moved within her. “I’m going to watch you every night.” She smiled, reveling in her newfound power, and she wondered what else she might do that would make him so weak with desire.
“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Right now. This moment. But that’s— that’s—” He moved again, groaning at the sensitive friction of it.
Then he planted his hands on the mattress, on either side of her head.
He was trying to hold himself still, she realized.
“That’s not what I wanted to say,” he said, each word requiring its own ragged breath.
She looked at him, into his eyes, and she felt one of his hands take hers, their fingers entwining in a lovers’ knot.
“I love you,” he said. “
I love you
.” And then he said it again, and again, with his mouth, with his voice. With every motion of his body, she felt it. It was overwhelming, amazing, and utterly humbling, to feel so magnificently a part of another person.
She squeezed his hand. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “You are the first man . . . The first man I’ve . . .” She didn’t know how to say it. She wanted him to know every moment of her life, every triumph and disappointment. Most of al, she wanted him to know that he was the first man she had ever trusted completely, the only man to win her heart.
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Right then, in the midst of the most carnal, erotic coupling she could imagine, he kissed her knuckles, as gently and honorably as an ancient knight.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered.
She hadn’t realized she was.
He kissed away her tears, but as he bent over he moved again within her, restoking the turbulent fire at her core. She stroked his calves with her feet, lifting her hips in a feminine squirm, and then he was moving, and she was moving, and something was changing within her, stretching and tightening until she could not possibly bear it, and then—
“Oooooh!” She let out a little cry as the world burst around her, and she grabbed him, clutching his shoulders so hard she lifted from the bed.
“Oh, my God,” he panted. “Oh, my God, oh my—” With one final thrust he cried out, jerking forward and then finaly colapsing as he spiled himself within her.
It was done, Anne thought dreamily. It was done, and yet her life was finaly beginning.
ll
ater that night, Daniel lay on his side, leaning on his elbow with his head propped in his hand as he idly toyed with the loose strands of Anne’s hair. She was sleeping—or at least he thought she was. If not, she was being remarkably indulgent, letting him stroke through the soft curls, marveling at the way the flickering candlelight reflected on each strand.
He hadn’t realized her hair was so long. When she had it done up, with her pins and combs and whatever else it was women used, it looked like any other hair bun. Wel, any other hair bun when worn by a woman so beautiful it made his heart stop.
But down, her hair was glorious. It spiled over her shoulders like a sable blanket, rippling into soft, luxurious waves that came to an end at the tops of her breasts.
He alowed himself a wicked little smile. He liked that her hair didn’t cover her breasts.
“What are you smiling about?” she murmured, her voice thick and lazy with sleep.
“You’re awake,” he said.
She let out a little mewl as she stretched, and he happily watched as the bedsheet slipped from her body. “Oh!” she chirped, yanking it back up.
He covered her hand with his, tugging it down. “I like you that way,” he murmured huskily.
She blushed. It was too dark for him to see the pink on her skin, but her eyes looked down for just a moment, the way they always did when she was embarrassed. And then he smiled again, because he hadn’t even realized he’d known that about her.
He liked knowing things about her.
“You didn’t say what you were smiling about,” she said, gently puling the sheet back up and tucking it under her arm.
“I was thinking,” he said, “that I rather like it that your hair is not quite long enough to cover your breasts.” This time he
did
see her blush, even in the dark.
“You did ask,” he murmured.
They fell into a companionable silence, but soon Daniel saw worry lines begin to form on Anne’s forehead. He wasn’t surprised when she asked, softly, “What happens now?”
He knew what she was asking, but he didn’t want to answer. Snuggled together in his four-poster bed with the canopy puled closed around them, it was easy to pretend that the rest of the world did not exist. But morning would come soon enough, and with it, all of the dangers and cruelties that had brought her to this point.
“I will pay a call upon Sir George Chervil,” he finaly said. “I trust it will not be difficult to determine his address.”
“Where will I go?” she whispered.
“You will stay here,” Daniel said firmly. He could hardly believe she’d think he’d alow her to go anywhere else.
“But what will you tell your family?”
“The truth,” he said. Then, when her eyes widened with shock, he quickly added, “Some of it. There is no need for anyone to know precisely where you slept tonight, but I will have to tell my mother and sister how you came to be here without so much as a change of clothing. Unless you can think of a reasonable story.”
“No,” she agreed.
“Honoria can lend you a wardrobe, and with my mother here as chaperone, it will not be untoward in the least for you to be instaled in one of our guest bedrooms.”
For a split second she looked as if she might protest, or perhaps suggest an alternative plan. But in the end she nodded.
“I will see to a special license right after I see to Chervil,” Daniel said.
“A special license?” Anne echoed. “Aren’t they terribly extravagant?”
He nudged a little closer. “Do you realy think I’m going to be able to wait a proper engagement period?” He nudged a little closer. “Do you realy think I’m going to be able to wait a proper engagement period?” She started to smile.
“Do you realy think
you
can wait?” he added huskily.
“You’ve turned me into a wanton,” she whispered.
He puled her against him. “I can’t quite summon the will to complain.”
As he kissed her, he heard her whisper, “I can’t, either.”
All would be right with the world. With a woman like this in his arms, how could it be otherwise?
T
he folowing day, after getting Anne settled as a proper guest in his household, Daniel set out to pay a call upon Sir George Chervil.
As expected, it hadn’t been difficult to find his address. He lived in Marylebone, not far from his father-in-law’s Portman Square residence. Daniel knew who Viscount Hanley was; indeed, Daniel had been at Eton at the same time as two of Hanley’s sons. The connection was not terribly deep, but the family would know who he was. If Chervil did not come around to his way of thinking with appropriate speed, Daniel had every confidence that a call upon his father-in-law—who undoubtedly controled the purse strings, including the deed for the tidy little Marylebone home upon whose steps Daniel was now ascending—would do the trick.
Within moments of knocking on the front door, Daniel was ushered into a sitting room decorated in muted shades of green and gold. A few minutes later, a woman came in. From her age and attire, he could only deduce that she was Lady Chervil, the viscount’s daughter George Chervil had chosen to marry instead of Anne.
“My lord,” Lady Chervil said, offering him an elegant curtsy. She was quite pretty, with light brown curls and clear, peaches-and-cream skin. She could not compare to Anne’s dramatic beauty, but then again, few could. And Daniel was, perhaps, somewhat biased.
“Lady Chervil,” he said in return. She looked surprised by his presence, and more than a little bit curious. Her father was a viscount, so she must be used to receiving high-ranking visitors, but at the same time, he imagined it had been some time since an earl had caled upon her in her own home, especialy if it had been only recently that her husband had become a baronet.
“I have come to call upon your husband,” Daniel told her.
“I am afraid he is not home just now,” she said. “Is there anything with which I may assist you? I am surprised that my husband did not mention your connection.”
“We have not been formaly introduced,” Daniel explained. There seemed no reason to pretend otherwise; Chervil would make as much clear when he returned home and his wife mentioned that the Earl of Winstead had paid a cal.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, not that there was anything for which to apologize. But she seemed like the sort of woman who said
I’m sorry
whenever she wasn’t sure what else to say. “Is there anything with which I might assist you? Oh, I’m so sorry, I asked that already, didn’t I?” She motioned to a seating area. “Would you care to sit? I can have tea brought out immediately.”
“No, thank you,” Daniel said. It was an effort to keep his manners polite, but he knew that this woman bore no blame for what had happened to Anne. She likely had never even heard of her.
He cleared his throat. “Do you know when your husband is expected back?”
“I shouldn’t think it would be too long,” she replied. “Would you like to wait?”
Not realy, but Daniel didn’t see any other alternative, so he thanked her and took a seat. Tea was brought out, and much small conversation was made, interspersed with long pauses and unconcealed glances at the mantel clock. He tried to distract himself with thoughts of Anne, and what she must be doing at that precise moment.
While he was sipping tea, she was trying on clothing lent to her by Honoria.
While he was tapping his fingers impatiently against his knee, she was sitting down to dinner with his mother, who had, much to Daniel’s pride and relief, not batted so much as an eyelash when he announced that he planned to marry Miss Wynter, and oh, by the way, she would be staying at Winstead House as their guest, since she couldn’t very well continue on as a governess to the Pleinsworths.
“Lord Winstead?”
He looked up. Lady Chervil had her head tilted to the side and was blinking expectantly. She had clearly asked him a question—one he had not heard.
Fortunately, she was the sort of woman in whom good manners had been ingrained since birth, and so she drew no attention to his lapse, instead saying (and presumably repeating), “You must be terribly excited about your sister’s upcoming nuptials.” At his blank look, she added, “I read about it in the newspaper, and of course I attended your family’s lovely musicales when I was having my season.”
Daniel wondered if that meant that she was no longer receiving invitations. He hoped so. The thought of George Chervil sitting in his home made his skin crawl.
He cleared his throat, trying to keep his expression pleasant. “Yes, very much so. Lord Chatteris has been a close friend since childhood.”
“How lovely for you, then, that he will now be your brother.”
She smiled, and Daniel was struck by a tiny arrow of unease. Lady Chervil seemed to be a most pleasant woman, someone with whom his sister—or Anne—
would be friendly were she not married to Sir George. She was innocent of everything, save for marrying a scoundrel, and he was going to upend her life completely.
“He is at my house right now,” Daniel said, trying to assuage his disquietude by offering her slightly more charming conversation. “I believe he has been dragged over to help plan the wedding.”
“Oh, how lovely.”
He gave her a nod, using the opportunity to play the game of
What-Must-Anne-Be-Doing-Now
? He hoped she was with the rest of his family, offering her opinion on lavender-blue and blue-lavender and flowers and lace and everything else that went into a family celebration.
She deserved a family. After eight years, she deserved to feel as if she belonged.
Daniel glanced at the mantel clock again, trying to be a bit more discreet about it. He had been here an hour and a half. Surely Lady Chervil was growing restless.
Daniel glanced at the mantel clock again, trying to be a bit more discreet about it. He had been here an hour and a half. Surely Lady Chervil was growing restless.
No one remained in a sitting room for an hour and a half, waiting for someone to come home. They both knew that propriety dictated that he offer his card and depart.
But Daniel wasn’t budging.
Lady Chervil smiled awkwardly. “Truly, I did not think Sir George would be gone so long. I can’t imagine what is keeping him.”
“Where did he go?” Daniel asked. It was an intrusive question, but after ninety minutes of chitchat, it no longer seemed importune.
“I believe he visited a doctor,” Lady Chervil said. “For his scar, you know.” She looked up. “Oh, you said you had not been introduced. He has . . .” She motioned to her face with a sad expression. “He has a scar. It was a riding accident, just before we were married. I think it makes him look dashing, but he is forever trying to minimize it.”
Something unsettling began to roil in the pit of Daniel’s bely. “He went to see a doctor?” he asked.
“Wel, I think so,” Lady Chervil replied. “When he left this morning, he said that he was going to see someone about his scar. I just assumed it was a doctor. Who else would he see?”
Anne
.
Daniel stood so quickly he upset the teapot, sending lukewarm dregs running across the table.
“Lord Winstead?” Lady Chervil asked, her voice laced with alarm. She came to her feet, too, hurrying after him as he strode for the door. “Is something wrong?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said. He did not have time for niceties. He’d already sat here for ninety bloody minutes, and God only knew what Chervil was planning.
Or had already done.
“May I help you in some way?” she asked, hurrying after him as he made his way to the front door. “Perhaps I can convey a message to my husband?” Daniel turned around. “Yes,” he said, and he did not recognize his own voice. Terror had made him unsteady; rage was making him bold. “You may tell him that if he touches so much as a hair on my fiancée’s head, I shal personaly see to it that his liver is extracted through his mouth.” Lady Chervil went very pale.
“Do you understand?”
She nodded unsteadily.
Daniel stared at her. Hard. She was terrified, but that was nothing compared to what Anne would be feeling if she was now in the clutches of George Chervil. He took another step toward the door, then paused. “One more thing,” he said. “If he comes home tonight alive, I suggest you have a talk with him about your future here in England. You might find life more comfortable on another continent. Good day, Lady Chervil.”
“Good day,” she said. Then she fainted dead away.
“A
nne!” Daniel belowed as he ran into the front hall of Winstead House. “Anne!”
Poole, the longtime butler at Winstead House, materialized as if from nowhere.
“Where is Miss Wynter?” Daniel demanded, struggling for breath. His landau had been staled in traffic, and he’d run the last few minutes of the journey, tearing through the streets like a madman. It was a wonder he had not been run down by a carriage.
His mother emerged from the sitting room, folowed by Honoria and Marcus. “What is going on?” she asked. “Daniel, what on earth—”
“Where is Miss Wynter?” he panted, still gasping for air.
“She went out,” his mother said.
“Out? She went
out
?” Why the devil would she do that? She knew that she was supposed to remain at Winstead House until he returned.
“Wel, that’s what I understand,” Lady Winstead looked over at the butler for help. “I wasn’t here.”
“Miss Wynter had a visitor,” Poole said. “Sir George Chervil. She left with him an hour ago. Perhaps two.” Daniel turned on him in horror. “What?”
“She did not seem to care for his company,” Poole began.
“Wel, then why on earth would she—”
“He was with Lady Frances.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
“Daniel?” his mother said with rising concern. “What is going on?”
“Lady Frances?” Daniel echoed, still staring at Poole.
“Who is Sir George Chervil?” Honoria asked. She looked at Marcus, but he shook his head.
“She was in his carriage,” Poole told Daniel.
“Frances?”
Poole nodded. “Yes.”
“And Miss Wynter took his word on this?”
“I do not know, my lord,” the butler said. “She did not confide in me. But she walked out to the pavement with him, and then she entered the carriage. She appeared to do so of her own volition.”
“Bloody hel,” Daniel swore.
“Daniel,” Marcus said, his voice rock solid and steady in a room that was spinning. “What is going on?” Daniel had told his mother some of Anne’s past earlier that morning; now he told all of them the rest.
The blood drained from Lady Winstead’s face, and when she grabbed Daniel’s hand, it felt like a panicked claw. “We must go tell Charlotte,” she said, barely able to speak.
Daniel nodded slowly, trying to think. How had Chervil gotten to Frances? And where would he—
“Daniel!” his mother nearly screamed. “We must go tell Charlotte now! That madman has her daughter!” Daniel jerked to attention. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, at once.”
“I’m coming, too,” Marcus said. He turned to Honoria. “Will you stay? Someone needs to remain here in case Miss Wynter comes back.” Honoria nodded.
“Let’s go,” Daniel said. They raced out of the house, Lady Winstead not even bothering to don a coat. The carriage that Daniel had abandoned five minutes earlier had arrived, and so he put his mother inside with Marcus and took off running. It was only a quarter mile, and if the roads were still clogged with traffic, he could reach Pleinsworth House faster on foot.
He arrived moments ahead of the carriage, breathing hard as he raced up the steps to Pleinsworth House. He slammed the knocker down three times and was reaching for the fourth when Granby opened the door, stepping quickly aside as Daniel practicaly tumbled in.
reaching for the fourth when Granby opened the door, stepping quickly aside as Daniel practicaly tumbled in.
“Frances,” he gasped.
“She’s not here,” Granby told him.
“I know. Do you know where—”
“Charlotte!” his mother yeled, yanking her skirts up well over her ankles as she ran up the steps. She turned to Granby with wild eyes. “Where is Charlotte?” Granby motioned toward the back of the house. “I believe she is seeing to her correspondence. In the—”
“I’m right here,” Lady Pleinsworth said, hurrying out of a room. “My heavens, what is going on? Virginia, you look—”
“It’s Frances,” Daniel said grimly. “We think she may have been kidnapped.”
“What?” Lady Pleinsworth looked at him, and then at his mother, and then finaly at Marcus, who was standing silently by the door. “No, that can’t be,” she said, sounding far more confused than worried. “She was just—” She turned to Granby. “Wasn’t she out for a walk with Nanny Flanders?”
“They have not yet returned, my lady.”
“But surely they have not been gone so long as to cause concern. Nanny Flanders doesn’t move very quickly any longer, so it will take them some time to get
’round the park.”
Daniel exchanged a grim glance with Marcus before teling Granby, “Someone needs to go look for the nurse.” The butler nodded. “At once.”
“Aunt Charlotte,” Daniel began, and then he related the events of the afternoon. He gave her only a very brief account of Anne’s background; there would be time for that later. But it did not take long to tell her enough so that her face went ashen.
“This man . . .” she said, her voice shaking with terror. “This madman . . . You think he has Frances?”
“Anne would never have gone with him otherwise.”
“Oh, my heavens.” Lady Pleinsworth swayed and became unsteady on her feet. Daniel quickly helped her to a chair. “What will we do?” she asked him. “How can we find them?”
“I’ll go back to Chervil’s house,” he said. “It’s the only—”
“Frances!” Lady Pleinsworth shrieked.
Daniel turned around just in time to see Frances come tearing through the hall and hurl herself at her mother. She was dusty, and dirty, and her dress was torn. But she did not appear to have been injured, at least not deliberately.
“Oh, my dear girl,” Lady Pleinsworth sobbed, clutching Frances to her with frantic hands. “What happened? Oh, dear God, have you been hurt?” She touched her arms, and her shoulders, and then finaly showered her small face with kisses.