Candice Hern (18 page)

He tried to give her more, driving faster, pressing himself hard against the nub of her sex, the center of pleasure. With a supreme effort of will, he held himself back until he felt her climax build, until he felt the tension in her body coil tight and finally spring loose into a hot, pulsing release that had her crying out and writhing beneath him.

"Oh my God, Thayne! Oh my God, oh my God. Gabriel!"

The sound of his name on her lips, unexpected and intimate, drove him harder. He thrust faster and faster until he could hold on no longer. With a groan, he quickly pulled out, convulsed violently, and spent himself on her white belly.

* * *

It had been worth it. Beatrice was not going to regret a single moment of this night. After a second, more leisurely bout of lovemaking, she lay curled up against Thayne. Gabriel. She would think of him now only as Gabriel. She was not sure why his name had burst from her lips in the throes of a sexual climax. Perhaps she had felt so connected to him in that moment of ultimate sharing that only his most intimate name seemed right. And it
was
right.

After the first loving, Gabriel found a basin and water — bless Wilhelmina, again — and gently cleaned her, then pulled her from the bed to sit by the fire. They had drunk the wine and eaten grapes and figs, and finally fell into lovemaking again, right there on the floor. They lay there still, her back against his chest, his arm wrapped around her and softly fondling her breasts.

"I adore your body," he said. "It reminds me of my favorite works of sculpture from India. Full and round here" — he cupped a breast — "narrower here" — his hand slid to her waist — "and softly rounded here" — he laid his hand flat against her belly. "I have several crates of stone-carved goddesses shaped exactly like you."

"I am glad you like my body, but it is not the ideal you find in your sculpture. I'm quite sure your stone goddesses have firm breasts." She giggled. "Well, of course they do. They're made of stone!"

He laughed and she bounced against his chest. "I love your breasts," he said, moving his hands to cup them again, "just the way they are. Soft and pliable. It will be an effort to ever take my hands away from them."

The dear boy. He really seemed to mean it. Though why he should prefer soft, middle-aged breasts to firm, perky younger ones was a mystery. "You make me feel beautiful, Gabriel."

"You are beautiful," he said in a matter-of-fact tone that made her believe him.

She reached behind her and touched his face. The rough prickle of beard marked his jaw. "That is why I was so drawn to you at the masquerade," she said. "You looked at me in a way that made me feel beautiful, desirable. I could not resist you, the way you looked at me. I had not felt such open desire from a man in ... well, I don't know if I ever have, actually. I believe it made me a little crazy that night."

"I have been away from England too long," he said. "Some sort of sea change must have taken place in the male population while I was away. Or they have all gone blind. How could a woman like you have never felt a man's desire before?"

She hunched a shoulder. "I felt it from my husband."

"But no other?"

"No. But perhaps I wasn't paying attention. Until I saw you."

His hand crept lower until his fingers threaded through the copper curls between her legs, setting off tingling sparks of sensation. "Are you paying attention now?"

"Oh, yes." She smiled to think that he was ready for another round of lovemaking. It seemed there was, after all, a singular advantage to taking a younger man for one's lover. "Very close attention, indeed."

And she turned in his arms and kissed him.

"Thayne? What the devil are you doing here?"

He muttered an oath and turned to face his mother. "It is nice to see you, too, Your Grace."

She gazed at him quizzically as she handed her parasol to a housemaid. It had never occurred to Thayne that she would come to call on Beatrice, but here they both stood in her entry hall along with a few others who'd dropped by. Beatrice had told him this was her "at home" afternoon, and he'd decided he couldn't wait to see her again, even among a small crowd of visitors. Since they had left the Duchess of Hertford's house last night, he had thought of little else but when they might be able to meet again.

"You surprise me, Thayne," his mother said. "I thought you were not interested in the Thirkill girl, but I am very pleased to see you have changed your mind."

"I have not changed my mind. I am only here because Burnett dragged me along. He is the one with a partiality for Miss Thirkill. I have come to support him, to see that he doesn't make a cake of himself."

In fact, it was quite the other way around. Thayne had pleaded with Burnett to accompany him, knowing that if he arrived alone, others would make the same assumption as his mother. Now that there was a full-blown love affair between him and Beatrice, the very last thing he wanted was to be linked again with her niece. They had spoken about Emily at some length as they'd lain cocooned together under a blanket in front of the fire. Beatrice was very concerned about the girl's continued interest in Thayne and asked him to keep his distance. She would not welcome his appearance here today, but he had not been able to stay away. Besides, he had no intention of allowing a headstrong young girl to dictate his movements.

"Burnett?" The duchess craned her neck to see who was climbing the stairs. "I do not see Mr. Burnett."

"He is already upstairs, Mother. In his eagerness, he dashed on ahead when I stopped to speak to you. Come, take my arm. We shall go up together."

The duchess looked all about her as they ascended the stairs. "This is a rather elegant balustrade, is it not? The ironwork is quite splendid. I can see that Lady Somerfield's good taste is not limited to her wardrobe. It's a lovely house."

"Yes, it is." He generally paid little attention to such things as balustrades, but now that he looked around him, he could see that the house was a reflection of its mistress. The furnishings, the pictures, the window draperies — everything was tasteful and refined, as elegant as Beatrice herself.

They had talked a great deal the night before, getting to know each other's mind as well as body. He liked that about her, the fact that she wanted to talk. He'd had a notion that their relationship would be solely physical. He was looking for a bride this Season, after all, and sought nothing more from Beatrice than her body.

He ought to have known better. They had begun a sort of friendship when he'd still been interested in Emily. He had always enjoyed her forthright conversation.

And now he found himself remembering things she'd said last night as much as he remembered things they'd done together. As he led his mother toward the open doors of the drawing room, he was looking forward to speaking with her again. Almost as much as he anticipated making love to her again.

He was very much afraid this was not going to be the simple, carnal love affair he'd expected.

* * *

Beatrice was listening politely to Lady Tewkesbury's mindless chatter while attempting to keep an eye on all three of her charges. Her daughters were behaving quite properly, even Charlotte, who was in one of her more watchful moods today. She had been complimented several times on the girls, who were both dressed in pretty spotted muslin dresses. Golden-haired Georgiana, though still a bit angular, showed all the signs of becoming a true beauty. Charlotte hadn't yet blossomed, though she reminded Beatrice very much of herself at that age, with bright red hair and freckles. She sat ramrod straight with her hands folded demurely in her lap. Miss Trumbull's deportment lessons must be working, at last.

But then Charlotte broke into a wide smile as one of Emily's swains stopped to speak with her. Beatrice could only hope the child would not talk the young man to death. Charlotte, bless her heart, could chatter endlessly, barely pausing for breath.

Beatrice's gaze swept the room and happened to catch Emily, who was positively beaming. Her pretty face was wreathed in a dazzling smile and a glint of excitement lit her eyes. But that sparkling gaze was not aimed at young Lord Ushworth, who sat beside her, trying so hard to impress her, or at Mr. Burnett, who stood nearby and smiled patiently, awaiting his own turn with her. Emily was looking toward the door. Beatrice followed her gaze.

And gasped.

Gabriel! Good heavens, what was he doing here? Theirs was to be a discreet relationship. He should not be showing up in her drawing room like this, setting off a sudden pulse of heat in her loins. And in her face. She felt the idiotic heat of a blush. How mortifying.

Blast the man, he would become linked with Emily again by coming here.

But how wonderful to see him.

And the duchess! Good God, he'd brought his mother. Beatrice took several steadying breaths, trying to pull herself together, to still her racing heart. Was Her Grace here to press for a match with Emily?

Gabriel had told her last night that he had made it clear to his parents that he had no interest in Emily, that he was looking elsewhere. They had been disappointed, Gabriel said, especially the duke, who was very fond of Emily — or simply captivated by her beauty — and had looked forward to a match.

Had Gabriel been wrong about the acquiescence to his decision? Was Her Grace determined to overrule him?

"Please excuse me, Lady Tewkesbury, but I have new guests I must greet. Do you know Her Grace of Doncaster? Yes, of course you do. Come, let us welcome her."

Beatrice kept her eyes, and her smile, on the duchess, doing her best to ignore the woman's son. She subtly maneuvered Lady Tewkesbury between her and Gabriel, shamelessly using her ladyship as a buffer, for Beatrice feared her reaction if she got too close to him. And feared that people would notice her reaction.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace." Beatrice dipped a modest curtsy. "How lovely of you to call on me. I am so pleased to see you again. And Lord Thayne. Thank you for escorting the duchess."

"Oh, but I did not drag Thayne with me," the duchess said. "I tripped over him in your entry, Lady Somerfield. He claims to have accompanied Mr. Burnett."

"And so he did, Your Grace." Jeremy Burnett took the duchess's hand and kissed the air above it. "I came to call upon Miss Thirkill. And Lady Somerfield, of course."

"Did you? Ah, Miss Thirkill. Don't you look lovely in that shade of blue?"

Emily had wasted no time in attaching herself to the duchess, and by extension to Gabriel. In fact, most of the visitors had gathered around Her Grace to offer greetings. She was an important lady, and everyone wanted a moment with her. Beatrice made a few introductions, initiated conversation on general topics, and soon found herself quite unnecessary as her guests enjoyed themselves.

Emily, however, had not left Gabriel's side. All the other gentlemen who'd come specifically to see her were ignored, and stood about looking lost and forlorn.

"We should lock him up somewhere so the rest of us can have a chance." Mr. Burnett had come to stand beside Beatrice. They both watched as Emily turned the full force of her charm on Gabriel. Worse, Beatrice saw that her niece affected a deliberately proprietary air, standing just a shade too close to him, touching his sleeve once or twice.

That was the most important reason he should have stayed away. People would get the wrong impression, the impression that Emily was trying her best to give them.

"This will not do," Beatrice muttered to herself.

"Indeed not," Mr. Burnett agreed.

He looked at her in a way that suggested he knew what was between her and Gabriel. But then, Gabriel had told her that he'd engaged Mr. Burnett to distract Emily, so perhaps he knew why that was necessary.

And yet, as he turned to look at Emily once again, Beatrice thought there was something more going on. "Mr. Burnett, I know what Thayne has asked of you. But it seems to me that you do not find his assignment a hardship. You are fond of my niece, I think."

"Yes, God help me," he said, and turned his engaging grin on her. "I'm as big a fool as every other man in London, apparently. But she will never notice me as long as Thayne is around, no matter how cool he is to her. He is a marquess, after all. And I am merely a younger son of an earl."

Beatrice continued to watch Emily, growing increasingly uncomfortable as the girl seemed to want everyone to believe Gabriel belonged to her. The only solace to be found in this provoking scenario was that he was not playing along. He stood rigid and unsmiling, giving no indication that he had any feeling for the wretched girl. In fact, if one watched long enough, it began to look a bit of a farce. Gabriel would subtly inch away from her, but she moved with him each time. It was like a dance — he stepped left, she stepped left. In ten minutes' time, they would have circled the room.

Beatrice had to put a stop to it before tongues began to wag again. "Emily must not be allowed to monopolize him," she said, "or to ignore her other guests. We must try to extricate him from her somehow."

"Mama?"

Beatrice had not noticed her daughter's approach. How much had she heard? "Yes, Charlotte?"

"I should very much like to meet a duchess, Mama," Charlotte said. "I have never met one, you know."

"Yes, you have. You've met the Duchess of Hertford on more than one occasion."

"But she is a dowager duchess, and I don't think that counts. I would love to meet a real duchess. An important duchess. Do you think I might?"

Beatrice touched her daughter's cheek and smiled. "Of course, my love. I shall present both you and Georgiana to Her Grace. But first, allow me to introduce Mr. Burnett."

"Oh, we've already met," Charlotte said.

"Yes, we are old friends," Mr. Burnett said, grinning down at her.

They must have become acquainted while Beatrice was busy with other guests.

"He's been to India, you know," Charlotte said. "And has even ridden an elephant!"