Edith Layton (23 page)

“You think that’s why I want to?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. But it won’t do,” she said sadly. “You need a lovely wife, Eric, a beautiful woman of fashion like Belle or a pocket Venus like Gilly or a regal beauty like Drum’s Alexandria. I’ve heard you admired them and women who are like them in your time. But me? I’m nothing like that. They’re so very desirable.”

“You think I don’t desire you?”

That chased the sadness from her eyes. “Think it? I know it!” she said angrily. “It took this ugly incident to make me see how deluded I was. I was as humiliated as I was frightened, but it opened my eyes. I’ve had time to think, and thank goodness there’s still time to set things right. This proposed union of ours is not right, at least not for you, and so not for me either. Eric, you offered for me after one kiss!”

“There have been more,” he said.

“Well, yes, there have been. But always measured and always controlled. The first were tokens of affection and the last, today, natural relief at finding me alive.”

“And the ones before that?” he asked her slowly. “The night I came to tell you that I didn’t need three days to make up my mind?”

“Oh, that night under my window?” she said,
her color rising. “You are an honorable man. Now I see you couldn’t sleep until the thing was settled and had to resolve matters in order to spare my feelings and respect my brother and behave in a way you felt was right.”

“And what I told you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter, for though you’re an honest man, I think you’d dissemble for a good cause. But I don’t want to be a good cause! I do believe you have real affection for me. That’s not the sort of desire I’m talking about.”

“What sort of desire is that?” he asked slowly, his expression unreadable but decidedly peculiar.

“Desire you can’t mask or imitate or feign,” she said staunchly. “And certainly not keep under control.”

“Ah, I see. And you know what that kind of desire is all about?”

“Well, yes, I do,” she said. “Because oh, lord, Eric, I so desired you! I kept wanting to touch you every time I saw you. Whenever you kissed me, I lost all sense of time and place. You were the one who always knew when to rein in. I could not. I yearned for you, I swear my stomach actually ached when I thought about touching you, and I couldn’t think of much else. But,” she said, raising her head, “that doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it, I daresay. And you have to find yourself a female you want to touch every minute too. These past days have made me think hard. Life’s too short for polite love. It would be disastrous for us to marry. For me
and for you. Because I’d kill you if you found your true love after we were married. And it would kill me if I knew you wanted her more than me.”

She smiled wistfully. “It isn’t just that. I ought to have told you this before too, but the fact is that I wouldn’t look the other way if my husband took a mistress. I’d murder him and run her out of town. So,” she said with decision, “this is for the best for us both, believe me. We can still be friends,” she added, when she saw he hadn’t moved.

“Of course,” he said, “I will always consider you my friend, and I hope you always think of me as such.”

She nodded, but it was hard to see him because of the mist that was rising before her eyes. She held her head higher. She could weep all night and probably would, but she’d be damned if she let him see a tear. She refused to let them ruin a fine renunciation speech.

“And I’m glad we had this talk,” he added.

“Well, yes,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “So I hoped you would be.”

“Because it shows me what an idiot I’ve been,” he said.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said, anger drying up her incipient tears. “I am a friend, after all, and a fellow could do worse than to marry one. You weren’t an idiot, just misguided.”

“Definitely,” he agreed, and reached for her.

He pulled her into his arms, bent his head, and kissed her. And then there it was again, the incredi
ble taste and scent of her, the feel of her in his arms, electric, thrilling, necessary. Exactly what he needed and what no other woman had ever given him. She fitted him. And that was that. He wanted to tell her so, but he needed to kiss her even more, so he told her with his lips and hands and heart.

She understood. She held him tight and gave him back kiss for kiss and breath for breath, toe to toe and heart to heart, and didn’t think it was a strange thing to do after what she had said, because she felt much too much to think at all—except that she wanted more of him.

The slippery silk of his dressing gown made it hard to secure even when it was belted. And so when his hand left off stroking her back and slid in the front to cup her breast, the gown opened wide to him, exposing her from breast to knee. But she never felt so much as a breeze on her skin. She was too busy crowding close to him to feel anything but the heat of his body.

His mouth was warm and searching, his big hand held her breast with exquisitely gentle care. His other hand cupped her bottom, enclosing it completely, holding her close to his arousal. She’d never felt so small, so hugely important, so excited and delighted.

He’d never felt such desire either. But his was not only for her, but also to show her how very beautiful and dear she was to him. And so, with enormous effort, he was able to step away from her.

They stood facing each other. She watched him,
her eyes showing her astonished desire, her lips blushed and swollen. She clutched her dressing gown together again, her hand over her heart where his had been. She wasn’t afraid that he didn’t want her, not now. That would be impossible. But she wondered why he’d stopped and waited patiently for him to tell her. While she did, she looked at him and filled her heart with him.

He reached out, and she expected to be in his arms again. But he only held her at arm’s length, her shoulders in his hands. Slowly, he let his hands drift down the outline of her body, barely touching, as though he were measuring something immeasurably delicate and precious. Her head went back. She closed her eyes. She wanted to cover herself, she wanted him to cover over her. She loved him utterly but couldn’t watch him seeing her body. Her big, utilitarian, ungraceful body.

“I was an idiot to keep observing the proprieties,” he whispered, “a fool not to show you exactly how much I wanted you and how often. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. You are everything a man could desire, mind and body.
Never
doubt it. Do you know how hard won that control of mine was? You’re everything I could want. Look at me, Cammie.”

She opened her eyes, embarrassment and doubt clear to see in them—slowly replaced by wonder and love as she saw his expression clear.

“I don’t want a pretty little woman,” he said urgently, his hands locking around her waist at last.
“I don’t want a regal woman or a pocket Venus, or an Aphrodite in marble or in flesh or in ice or in marzipan or aspic.”

She smiled. He nodded, a tiny smile quirking the corner of his wide mouth, before his expression turned deadly serious again.

“I don’t want any other woman,” he said. “I want
you,
Cammie. As you are, as you were, as you will be. Are you beautiful? Absolutely, you are beautiful to me. Are you larger than some women? Definitely. Smaller than others? Absolutely. Am I bigger than you? What a question. Am I older than you? Unworthy of you? No one could doubt it. But there’s a truth that transcends age, size, and shape. I don’t know how it happened, I’m only incredibly grateful for it. We are a pair. Come, my love, and see how very well you fit me.”

She went gladly into his embrace. She raised her head and reared back from the waist in order to look him fully in the face. Her eyes were fixed on his, but she said nothing.

He cocked his head to the side, listening. He looked into her searching eyes.

He heard nothing but was sure of what she was saying.

Then show me.

He knew it as clearly as if she’d said it.

He raised her up in his arms and walked toward the bed with her, his heart racing, because there was nothing he wanted more, and he wanted nothing to ruin this moment. He hoped he’d said it all
right, and he had to do the rest as perfectly, because he needed her pleasure as much as his own.

And then she started laughing.

It stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh, Eric,” she said on a ripple of giggles, burying her nose in his neck. “How wonderful to find a man who can pick me up!”

"W
retch and witch and utter delight,” Eric said as he followed Camille down to the bed where he’d gently placed her.

She grinned.

“First you freeze my heart in my chest with your laughter, and now you stop it by the look of you,” he said in a whisper as he leaned over her and gazed down at her. He held her hands in his, their fingers laced together, so that she couldn’t secure the dressing gown, which had fallen open again. She saw the direction of his gaze change and saw his expression change as well, from easy laughter to intent surprise. Her fingers twitched, itching to close her gown. She almost turned her head to the
side, but then she saw the expression in his eyes, and her heart swelled with pride.

Eric looked at her hungrily. He saw her high, full breasts rise and fall with her excited breathing and watched how they pebbled as though they actually felt his warm gaze upon them. He saw the curve of her waist, the gentle swell of her belly, the triangle of cinnamon curls that covered over the generous mound of her sex, the glorious length of her legs, all revealed to him at last, all perfect in his sight.

She watched his eyes and rejoiced. But even so, a lifetime of doubts was not that easily defeated. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, because she knew she wasn’t deformed, but she lived in a time of strict definitions. Ladies were supposed to be delicate, elegant and fragile, robust figures were the attribute of whores and peasants. She couldn’t forget that, she couldn’t stop regretting that.

“I am big,” she said softly.

“So am I,” he said, as he lowered his head to kiss the puckered nub of her breast.

Her skin was smooth and firm and scented with good soap. It made him dizzy with desire. He released her hands so he could take her in his arms. But she lay too still for him.

He sat back. “And I’m dressed far too formally for the occasion,” he said, and unbuttoned his waistcoat.

He pulled his shirt over his head and cast it aside.

She stared at his broad bare chest, heavily mus
cled, covered with fine curling golden hair. She saw how that great chest tapered to a neatly defined waist. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked lower.

He hesitated, his hand on the buttons of his breeches, wondering if for all her bold talk she’d been too sheltered for lovemaking with a naked man. Some ladies, he knew, expected their lovers to come to them clothed, even after years of intimacy.

“I knew you would strip well,” she told him with a happy sigh. “I heard you boxed with the best in London, and now I can see why.”

He sat back on his heels and roared with laughter.

She blushed all over, he noted with growing interest.

“I can strip to even better,” he said, as he hurriedly unbuttoned his breeches. “You’ll see, I promise.” But when he discarded his breeches, he did so quickly and then as quickly lay down beside her and took her in his arms. There was bold, and there was brash; one was wise, the other foolish. Boxing and lovemaking were very different, and only one was a spectator sport she was likely to have ever seen. He was very aroused. He wasn’t sure that was a sight she would sigh to see, at least not until she grew used to him. Because he hadn’t lied. He was indeed a very big man.

He kissed her, distracting her before she could see how much he wanted her, pleased because though her manner was shy, her kisses weren’t, not even now, when she surely knew what they would
lead to. These weren’t the sweet exchanges they’d shared in the park after she’d accepted his proposal. They were beyond that now. She certainly knew it, and yet she showed him that she joyously anticipated whatever else was in store. He had great plans for that.

She’d been through hell these last few days, and so he’d hesitated to impose on her in any way. But Eric had been a soldier, and he knew how danger and the nearness of death made a man long to show he was a man, so that he could feel he was alive and could celebrate that life. His Camille had proved to be brave as any man, and so he believed he knew what would be good for her. He’d already seen how desire chased the shadows from her eyes and knew that pleasure would restore her even more. It certainly was doing that for him.

She opened her mouth against his, accepted the touch of his tongue, and returned it with enthusiasm. She pressed against him, and the sensation of her naked breasts rubbing against the bare skin of his chest made him catch his breath. She caught hers when he bent his head to taste the puckered tip of one breast and stayed there like a bee at a succulent blossom. Then he covered it with one big hand and went to address the other one. He cupped her bottom and devoured her mouth and placed his lips along the side of her neck, whispering her name until she shivered. She urged him on, murmuring his name under her breath, running her
hands over his wide shoulders, as though thrilled by his strength and size.

Her ardor was fueled by discovery, and every discovery seemed to delight her. He’d thought his arousal would be intimidating for a girl of her breeding and limited experience. But when she saw him, she was frankly curious instead, then filled with wonder at the extent to which her touch moved him, as it made him groan and grow. She was as astonished as excited by the sight of his arousal.

“Amazing!” she breathed, as he showed her that she could hold him as well as touch him and what motion she could use to best please him. “This is just amazing,” she repeated. “Imagine keeping such a thing a secret until you need it!”

Or you do
, he almost said with a wicked grin, but at the last minute restrained himself, remembering her age and experience. She was not yet his bride in fact, but she was that in his heart, and nothing about their first night of love could be rude or crude. This act of love must be only that, as well as everything gentle and refined, for her.

She found him amazing? He found it astonishing that she discovered nothing but delight in him. He’d heard such daunting stories about fearful untried young ladies of quality. But she really was quality, he realized, and rejoiced in his good fortune and her eager embrace.

Too soon he found himself fighting against his desire. He couldn’t remember ever having a better
lover. But then, he’d never loved any lover as he did his Camille.

Nor had Camille ever known anything like these thrilling moments in the night with her Eric. She’d thought she’d be shy when she finally made love with him. She’d worried about this intimacy as much as she’d desired it, if only because she’d been afraid she wouldn’t measure up to his expectations. But he seemed delighted with her, and that warmed her heart as much as he fired her body.

And his body! She reveled in it. Though she’d been drawn to his charm and appreciated his cleverness and consideration and a dozen other fine attributes of his, the truth was she’d desired him since the day they’d met, and that because of the way he looked to her. She’d only discovered his warmth and charm later. Now that he was bared to her, she could see how very lucky she was. Many gentlemen of the
ton
had to pad out their legs and chests and arms, but not her Eric. Everything about him was honest and straightforward. He was as magnificent without his clothes as he was in them.

She was charmed to find that his gentle nature and consideration were not diminished by his obvious desire. Even now, alone with her, at ease with her with the door locked behind them, knowing, as he must, that she was his now whatever he did, he was as much of a gentleman as he’d always been. He was also the phantom lover she’d dreamed about. All power, all restraint, all ardor and yet al
ways careful of her, a titan held in check. His body was steel and silk, his touch gentle and demanding. He smelled clean, his skin was clear, he tasted of salt and warmth.

She didn’t have to tell him what pleased her. Everything he did pleased her.

He caressed her and then kissed every place he’d caressed. When his hand slid all the way down her body and he finally touched her, low, she stilled. Then, on a strangled groan, she raised herself to him, offering him whatever he wished. There was no way she could be shamed by something that felt so fine. He did more than touch her. His fingers found a slow and steady rhythm against the cleft in her heated flesh as he teased and entered and withdrew again, watching her, kissing her, and watching her again. Soon a slow buzzing pervaded her whole body. She positively hummed with desire. When he saw her head go back and her eyes close, his movements became faster.

She gasped, her body rising hard against his hand. He held her as she shuddered, and then he rose over her, his knee between hers, urging them far apart. She opened her eyes. He smiled down at her tenderly and joined them swiftly.

She caught her breath again as she felt him filling her; she felt herself being stretched, it was uncomfortable, and yet—it was not. It was, she realized, necessary, urgently necessary, so necessary that she lifted herself to help him. When he moved within her, she saw his face transfixed with pleasure, his
eyes half closed, distant, his expression intent. She held on to him, rocked with him, watching him strive, feeling his power, beginning to at last feel her own. He pounded against her frantically before he cried out, froze, thrust again and once again, and sank down at last deep within her, now himself shuddering with his release.

She held on to his back, feeling a little confused, a little deprived, somehow as though she’d missed something too. But in all, she felt wonderful, energized, and triumphant.

His breathing slowed. He rolled away and lay beside her. Then he rose up on an elbow. “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”

She started to smile and shake her head, but then her body went rigid.

“What?” he asked, feeling her dismay. “What is it?”

She sat straight up and looked down at herself, then scrambled away from him and stared down at the sheets she’d lain upon. “Oh, Eric!” she wailed.

He sat up, looked at her and the bed. There was no blood on the bed or her body, but she looked aghast. A dozen terrible thoughts raced through his mind. He was a huge man and he’d thought she was ready, but had he somehow injured her tender body? What did he know of virgins? She’d been so enthusiastic he’d treated her like an equal in love, but a woman’s first experience was crucial. He prayed he hadn’t wounded her mind or body and
cursed himself silently as he held her shoulders fast in his hands.

“What is it?” he demanded. “Where are you hurt?”

“Well, that’s just it,” she said, looking at him with wide eyes. “I—I wasn’t. And it didn’t hurt, not at all, and there isn’t any blood or anything, and so now you’ll think I…But truly, you
are
my first lover, and nothing happened to me in Newgate or with Dearborne or anything and yet how will you believe it now?”

He fell back on the bed with a groan and then reached out and pulled her down on top of him. “Love,” he said, “not all women hurt or bleed their first time. Cammie,” he said into her ear as he stroked the tangled curls back from her face, “you’re a fine horsewoman, you ride like a demon, I’ve seen it. And you’re proud of that, aren’t you?”

Her head nodded against his chest.

“And have done since you were a girl?”

She nodded again.

“And you excel at all kinds of sports, many of which your mama despaired of—or so at least your brother told me. Isn’t that so? You’ve jumped your horse over gates and stiles. You’ve even been caught riding astride, like a boy, when you were out for a gallop at home and thought no one was watching. Haven’t you?”

She nodded.

He wanted to keep asking her questions she could say yes to because he liked the feeling of her
curls rubbing against his chest, but the sooner he quieted her fears, the better.

“So you see,” he said, trying to keep the smile from his voice, because he wouldn’t injure her pride any more than he would her body, “the sort of proof you didn’t find now was probably given unknowingly to some saddle in some race or at a gallop years ago. Or it’s possible you were fortunate enough to be born with no impediment. That happens too. Listen. I know I was your first lover,” he added, as he threaded his fingers through her curls and felt them bounce back against the back of his hand. “I’m certainly not sorry I didn’t hurt you. Do you think your pain or blood would have made it a better experience for me? Do you think I’m some sort of a monster?”

He felt her head move back and forth as she shook her head in denial. “And why should you think I wouldn’t believe you? Ah, why not?” he answered himself. “Well brought up men and women are poorly equipped for the realities of lovemaking, but at least we men can learn a lot in the streets before we gain real experience.”

“And even more later,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said simply, his hand stilling. “I can’t deny that.”

“Right,” she said after a moment. “So. How did I compare?”

His laughter made his chest rumble so much she had to raise her head. He cupped it in his hands and kissed her thoroughly. “You have no com
pare,” he said against her lips. “And I’m sorry too, but I’m not
that
vastly experienced. Mind, I wasn’t a virgin or a monk, but I wasn’t constantly seeking available women, because I never sought pleasure for its own sake. Now, of course, I’ll never seek it again, because I have you.”

After he’d disarmed her of the pillow she was thumping him with, he held her hands still and laughingly protested, “No, no, you know what I meant.” His face grew serious. “I meant that since I’ve found you I want no other woman and never will again. Shall I show you why? You’re a very good student. But the first time I think you were too busy watching and learning. Now for some applied knowledge. Are you game?”

She threw herself into his arms.
“Am I?”
she cried.

Then he learned something about love too, discovering it was possible to have it with laughter. Or at least, to have it until the ecstasy overwhelmed the laughter, and then he found there was a pleasure that went on far beyond it or anything he’d ever known.

“Now that,” she said with considerable satisfaction when they lay quietly at last, “was something!”