"Scarcely able to believe his luck, the shepherd fell upon his beautiful tormentor. How his skin burned as he ripped aside her gauzy clothes! How his heart thundered as she clasped him to her breast! His need seemed to triple at the thought of finally achieving his culmination. As soon as his raging rod plunged into her tender grotto, the faerie said the words that dispelled her curse. At once the shepherd knew that he could come but, no longer the fool he'd been, he remembered Mab's admonition. He must not cease until she allowed it. He had no doubt that if he failed, the vengeful creature would curse him again, quite possibly with something worse. Gritting his teeth and shuddering with effort— for he was precious close to spilling as it was—the handsome young shepherd gave his all to the haughty queen.
"At last, after many painfully close calls, she sighed with pleasure and shivered delicately in his arms. 'Now,' she said, lifting her snowy hips against his own. 'Now you may claim your prize.'
"The shepherd could not wait a second longer. With a roar that shook the ground, he exploded in release, spewing his pent-up seed like so many gouts of fire. The bliss was unimaginable, for the faerie had enhanced it by magical means. The crisis left him boneless when it passed. He had not even strength to lift his eyes. Knowing he could not hold her, the faerie pulled free of his embrace.
" 'That will teach you,' she said, 'not to spend on a maid a passion fit for a queen.'"
Gerald was the first to recover from the silence that gripped the room. "Bravo," he said, clapping loudly. "Your best ever."
Anna inclined her head as everyone echoed his praise.
Merry clapped as well, though she hardly knew where to look now that the spell had broken. She didn't wish the others to see her face, but couldn't help wondering how the tale had affected them. She knew
it affected Nic, for the hand he'd wrapped around hers was damply hot.
He's infected me, she thought. Soon she'd be as depraved as he was.
But her reaction held more than titillation. For all its silliness, Anna's story made her sad. Two people
who could have touched hearts had wasted their chance: one out of pride, and the other out of lust.
Was that to be Merry's fate when she ventured into the world of carnal pleasure?
She could not say "if anymore, only "when." Right or wrong, Nic had won her over. Worse, he seemed
to know it. Grinning up at her, he pulled her knuckles to his mouth. "Ready to go?" he whispered.
Merry hesitated, then nodded with a blush. As always, he knew the question she'd really answered. Triumph gleamed in his smoky eyes.
She hoped with all her heart it was a triumph they could share.
Eight
Naturally, they could not leave at once. Nic knew Mary wouldn't be comfortable with everyone guessing why they went. So he waited, itchingly impatient, through one last glass of
Madeira
. To his immense gratification, Mary's flush had not faded by the time he rose and stretched. He fancied he could hear
her body humming with awareness. She hadn't met his gaze since Anna finished and that, oddly enough, aroused him most of all.
He knew she wanted to hide the hunger in her eyes.
He made their good-byes and ushered her out the door with as much haste as was seemly—perhaps a
bit more. Anna lifted one brow at him when they left, but he honestly couldn't care. For once, he knew how his women felt.
He had to have her. Tonight. This minute. Sooner if they could manage it.
He swung her into his arms outside the door, thanking God old Max had brought the carriage round.
He practically tossed her onto the narrow seat.
"Nic!" she cried as she landed. He followed in an instant, pulling her sideways onto his lap. The carriage was icy, her body warm. Her startled hands flew to the breast of his winter coat. They belonged there. On him. All over him.
"Kiss me," he said. "Oh, God—
God
—put your mouth on mine."
Too eager to wait for her compliance, he clasped her head and forced his mouth to hers. She gasped but did not resist, and Nic abruptly felt as desperate as that bloody shepherd. Her lips were soft, yielding. He pushed inside and claimed her with his tongue. She tasted of wine and lust, of carmine red and throbbing violins. His throat closed on a moan. Deeper, he thought, and then: Damn, I could devour her. The kiss was rough, but his usual restraint had fled. To his relief, after her first stiff moment of surprise, she
kissed him back, her strong, lithe arms wrapping his head and ribs, her tongue both sweet and greedy.
His heart pounded wildly in his chest. This kiss was so good. Too good. She pulled him into her mouth
as if she could not wait for him to breach her. When he drew on her just as strongly, her sigh was a
paean of agreement. She felt what he felt. She wanted what he wanted. Images swept through his mind, things he'd seen as her painter and now wished to see in bed. Her blush. Her breasts. The curve of her derriere. To touch her... To be given the right... He could not think. He wanted her until he hurt.
Her chignon began to fall. With a groan of pure sensual pleasure, he tore the pins away and buried his hands in the rippling mass of curls. Her hair was cool and thick. He found her scalp and rubbed, loving the way her breath caught in her throat, the way her neck seemed to lose its prideful starch.
"Mary," he said, his voice like gravel, "do you know what you do to me? Can you guess how mad I am
to have you?"
He could not wait. He wrenched off his coat and opened his bursting trousers, drawing his erection from the tangle of sweaty cloth. He was heavy with arousal, leaden. The stiff, aching length fell against the purple velvet that draped her thigh. Merry gasped when she felt its living weight. Like magic, her cheek blazed with heat beneath his lips. Nic reached for her glove.
To his amazement, she pulled her hand away.
"Touch me," he said. "I want your fingers on my cock."
"But the coachman!"
"Fuck the coachman."
"But—"
He kissed her to silence. He was too near to getting what he craved to care who else might see. Max would not turn around in any case. Max was too well trained. Sinking deeper into desire, he nuzzled
the bend of her neck and gloried in her sigh. She smelled wonderful, of vanilla and woman, of sweat
and musk. His body wanted to absorb her through its pores. He slid his hand down her coat sleeve
and tugged her wrist.
"Come on, Mary. I want those little calluses on my skin."
"Nic," she said, a laugh in it, "we haven't left Anna's yet. We're standing in the lane."
He cursed more creatively this time, and tried to steady his breath. Long before it calmed, he rapped on the window to rouse their dozing driver. "Max," he ordered, "take us home. And Lord help you if you stop for anything on the way."
Mary was still giggling when the carriage rumbled forward.
"You weren't supposed to notice that," he said, as disgruntled by her presence of mind as he was
pleased by the yearning way she stroked his lapels.
She slid her hands behind his neck and laced them beneath his hair. "I take it I'm supposed to be overcome by passion."
"Yes," he huffed.
She tilted her head at him, her face in shadows, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Kiss me again,
and we'll see if you overcome me."
His body leapt but he did not move. "If I kiss you again, I'll take you in the carriage. I admit, I'd be
happy to do it, but it isn't what I'd planned for our first time."
"Oh, you've planned, have you?"
"Only since the moment I laid eyes on you."
Pleasure gurgled from her, a sound he'd never heard her make, one only the most confident woman could. The music warmed him deep inside. Wanting, needing to be closer, he pushed her skirts up her legs and turned her until she faced him on his lap. Her knees slid to either side of his hips, their progress stopped by the back of the leather seat. He scooted forward to bring her closer. Oh, that was better. Her gown was a tangle between them but beneath that only her drawers stopped the press of his raging flesh. Her warmth bled through the cloth, a humid warmth, perfumed by her arousal. He knew if he reached to touch it he would not stop.
Instead, he waited for her to touch him. Down her hands fell. From his shoulders. To his waist. Her thumbs rested on either side of his abdomen. She looked at his erection, rising thick and high between them, its thrumming surface lit by flickers of misty light. She bit her lip and then her hand was there,
there on the upswung curve behind the head. Her thumb steadied him, then tightened. He tensed and fought a groan. The clasp felt shockingly good on his naked skin. She still wore her new kid gloves,
their surface cool, their stitching a teasing rasp. Later, he thought. Later I'll strip her bare.
Her fingertips strafed the flare as if it were a harp string.
"If you won't kiss me," she murmured, "do you think I might kiss you?"
He had no power of speech to answer, just a groaning sigh.
She responded by brushing her lips across his own.
This was the kiss he'd dreamed of the day she'd showed up on his doorstep: a sweet kiss, a slow kiss.
Her lips were a whisper over his, then a press, then a shy, wet exploration that ventured no further than the delicate skin above his teeth. He shivered under the silky tease as long as he could bear, breathing harder, twining tighter. He didn't want to scare her but his pulse was pounding so hard his skin was shaking. She wasn't touching his erection. She'd abandoned it to stroke his face with tender hands and even that sent sparks spangling down his nerves.
Finally, he couldn't stand it.
"More," he said, when her mouth began to wander down his jaw. He stroked her neck above the collar
of her coat. "Open for me. Let me taste you."
Her pulse stuttered under his fingers as she lifted her face to his. Her eyes were huge, unsure, but she did not object. "Like this," he whispered and went deep, wanting to drown in her, wanting to drink her in. He sighed, long and low, and pulled an answering sigh from her. Her hands moved from his face to his back, wrapping him as he wrapped her. The pleasure of the simple embrace surprised him. Despite the urgency of his need, he felt suspended in the moment, happy to spend the hours till sunrise in her arms.
Then the carriage wheels ceased crunching on the gritty drive and a different sort of tension took hold of his partner's limbs.
"We're home," she whispered.
Nic did not move except to lick the peak of her upper lip. "Nervous?"
She nodded with shyly lowered lashes and the conflagration inside him rose. He didn't know which made him ache more: her schoolgirl blushes or her boldness. He was going to enjoy this, really, truly enjoy this. He slid his hands down her back until they filled the hollow above her bustle.
"I'm not letting you back out now," he warned, "but I'll make you happy you gave in."
She gaped at his effrontery. Then she laughed.
"Tuck yourself in," she ordered, more breathless than reproaching. "Unless you want your servants to
see a good bit more of you than they should."
He grinned at that, did as she advised, and kicked open the carriage door.
* * *
He carried her over the threshold like a princess in a tale. The house was empty this time of night, the
gas turned low, the shadows still.