His fingers caressed the underside of her breast, then slipped downward in an agonizingly slow manner along her side. She bit her lip, wanting to cry out with the sweet torture. The room around them vanished and she existed only in the reality of his touch.
His fingers whispered over her hips and around to her thighs and over the curls between her legs. She wanted to rip away the delicate fabric of the nightgown, wanted to feel him against her without barrier. His hand slipped between her legs, the sheer material at once abrasive and exciting against her. He fingered the point of her yearning for long moments through the dampened material, and she whimpered with need.
Without warning, he stepped away. She gasped, but before she could say a word, he pulled her night rail over her head and tossed it to one side.
“That was an excellent beginning,” she said in a strangled voice.
“Indeed it was.” His voice was barely steadier than hers.
“Now what?”
He scooped her into his arms, laid her on the bed, then stood beside her and surveyed her as a general might a battlefield. “Now”—he climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs—“close your eyes.”
“Is that a principle of seduction as well?”
He leaned over her, his blue eyes dark as a wild storm, a wicked smile on his lips, and kissed her eyelids closed.
“For tonight, yes.” His voice was a growl in the back of his throat. His lips whispered kisses over her face, her throat and continued downward. He took one nipple in his mouth and teased and tasted with teeth and tongue until she moaned and grasped his shoulders. He caught her wrists in one hand and held them over her head, thrusting her breasts upward, like an offering to a conquering army.
There was nothing she could do, and she reveled in her helplessness and his power over her. He moved from one breast to the other, and she thought surely she would die with the pleasure of his touch. His hand danced over her stomach and lower, to the juncture of her legs. He caressed the top of her
thighs, but did not approach that part of her that throbbed and ached for his touch. She arched upward, desperate for his touch, and dimly, through a haze of arousal, heard him chuckle softly. The blasted man knew exactly what he was doing to her. It was torture.
It was exquisite.
He pulled her wrists down to hold them against her stomach and shifted his position on the bed. His hand slid between her legs, parted her and held her open for him. She felt the warmth of his breath and gasped.
His tongue flicked over her, caressed her, encircled her. The sensation remembered in her dreams. Sailing the heavens. She moaned and struggled against his grip, but he held her wrists tight. Tension tightened within her until she was lost in the throb of her body and the skill of his touch. She cried out his name and abruptly he drew back and released her wrists.
Her eyes snapped open. “Matthew!”
“Tatiana.” His voice was heavy with passion and his lips claimed hers. He supported himself with one hand and guided himself into her with the other. And restraint vanished between them. She wrapped her arms around him and arched upward to meet his thrusts with the wanton eagerness of the tart she was only with him, always with him. He invaded her, filled her, consumed her. And she consumed him in return. Two bodies, one soul. As they always should have been. As they were meant to be.
They moved together higher and faster, to the edge of madness. Sweet and awful and forever. And she strained against him and he plunged deeper and harder until he groaned and his body shook and her own climaxed in blinding, magnificent release that stole her breath and her senses and her self. Sailing the heavens.
A glory and a wonder and a joy, to be found with him, and him alone. For a long time, neither moved. Then he shifted to her side, raised his head and stared at her, a bemused expression on his face.
“Excellent job, my lord,” she said softly. “You do indeed know the basics of seduction. Practice, no doubt.”
His expression sobered. “If I had known or suspected or even hoped that you would ever return, I—”
“No.” She reached to quiet his lips with hers. “I cannot blame you for what may well be my fault. However…” Gently, she bit his lower lip. “You shall restrict your activities to only one tart in the future.”
“A royal tart?”
In answer, she slipped her hand between them and caressed him. He gasped and grabbed her hand. “I can certainly see the benefits to that.”
He anchored her legs with his and kissed her thoroughly. “Surviving death puts rather a remarkable edge on everything in life, don’t you agree?”
“I do indeed. However, edge or not, it is rather more comfortable in a bed.”
“We should try a bed more often.”
“Very often.”
“As often as possible.”
“More often,” she said and met his lips once again.
She had had doubts, before her return, as to whether coming back to him might not be a horrid mistake. She had had doubts as well over her plan to renounce her title. It was a drastic step, requiring a great deal of thought and consideration.
But every minute spent with him, in his arms, in his bed, simply in his company dispelled those misgivings. She knew, with a certainty she’d never known before, that this was where she was meant to be. It was not mere happenstance that had brought her to Paris some fifteen-odd months ago. No simple impulse that caused her to escape the bonds of her position that day. No odd chance that led her to a park and an English charmer with a balloon.
No, Matthew Weston was her fate.
Now she just had to convince him.
“If this is a small, intimate affair, I should hate to see Her Grace’s idea of a grand occasion.” Matt leaned close to Tatiana’s ear. “Granted, it has been a significant length of time since I was present at any ball whatsoever, yet this seems rather a crush to me.”
“Nonsense, Matthew.” Tatiana’s gaze skimmed over the crowd. “I cannot imagine there are more than a hundred people here. Why, it is scarcely large enough to be called a ball.”
Matt studied her curiously. His princess was in her natural surrounding. Wealth. Nobility. Power. Her eyes sparkled, and excitement sounded in her voice. When they’d changed from the carriage to the larger coach, Tatiana had taken the opportunity to increase her luggage as well. And well worth it. The gown she wore tonight was deep and blue and made of fabric so insubstantial it clung like gossamer to every curve. It was scandalously low and he tried not to frown forbiddingly when he glanced at her overly exposed cleavage. She was tantalizing and inviting and delicious, and he would wager he was not the only man here who thought so.
She looked, in truth, every inch a princess.
“I must admit, I am quite impressed with how quickly Her Grace’s staff has put this all together. Particularly, so far from the city.”
“It’s ridiculous that the dowager decided to go ahead with it at all. Rather a lot of trouble for nothing.” A waiter presented them with a tray bearing glasses of champagne. Matt handed one to Tatiana and took
one for himself. “The balloon was the true attraction, and it’s gone.”
She shook her head in a gesture of feminine disgust. “You really do not understand anything about women, do you?”
“Apparently not, as I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“It is obvious, my dear Lord Matthew.” She spoke as if he were a small child incapable of understanding even the simplest concept. “The dowager duchess has a strong belief in the importance of family. As you are the grandson of her dear friend, she considers you an honorary member of this particular family. All this is to welcome you back into the fold.”
“This is not my fold.” He frowned and took a sip of his drink. “And I am not back in it.”
“Come, now, all prodigal sons say that.”
“I am not a prodigal son, nor do I plan on becoming one.”
Tatiana sipped at her wine and cast him an overly innocent gaze. “You did promise to visit your grandmother and your home.”
“I did not promise to visit. I promised to consider visiting. However, as we are discussing promises…”
He narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t you promise to tell Her Grace the truth about who you are and what you’re looking for?”
“I do believe, my lord, that, just like you, I promised to think about it.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You are such a good influence on me.”
“Tatiana.” The woman would drive him mad in no time.
“Oh, do stop looking at me as if I have done something reprehensible. I have indeed decided to confess all. I simply did not have the opportunity today.”
He raised a brow. “Too busy searching Effington Hall, were we?”
“Not at all.” She bristled. “I was too busy preparing for this evening, as was she. I shall bare my soul to her tomorrow. If that is acceptable to you. I may even give up dishonesty altogether, if that should make you happy.”
“Blissful.” He raised his glass to her. “To your vow of honesty, then.”
“Unless, of course, the situation truly calls for its opposite.” She smiled in an all-too-regal manner and turned her attention back to the milling crowd. “I have no idea who is whom here. I am somewhat surprised there was no receiving line, nor were we announced upon our arrival, although I suppose this is not a formal affair.”
“No, this is one of those small, family gatherings.”
“Do you know any of these people?”
“I should, I suppose, but I entered naval service when I was sixteen, still a bit young for occasions like
this.” He shook his head. “I don’t know a soul.”
“Well, the tall gentleman standing near the dowager is her grandson, Thomas, the Marquess of Helmsley,” a feminine voice sounded behind them.
Matt and Tatiana turned at once. An attractive woman with a mass of unruly blond curls and spectacles perched on the end of a pert nose smiled at them.
“Do forgive me, but I could not help overhearing. Or rather, I suppose I could help it, but it would not be nearly as much fun.” She held out her hand. “I am Lady Helmsley, Thomas’s wife. I gather you are Lord Matthew Weston.”
“Lady Helmsley.” Matt drew her hand to his lips. “Allow me to present my wife.” He bit back an inadvertent grin. “Lady Matthew.”
“You are the scholar from Avalonia.” Lady Helmsley’s eyes sparkled. “Her Grace told me all about you and your quest to learn of the travels of a princess. It must be fascinating.”
“Oh, indeed it is,” Tatiana said blithely. “One never knows what kinds of things one can find with just a bit of searching.”
Matt snorted, then effected an odd cough and smiled apologetically. Tatiana shot him a quick, scathing glance.
“Do you see the couple conversing with the dowager duchess?” Lady Helmsley nodded at a tall, dark-haired gentleman accompanied by a lovely blonde, also with spectacles. “That is Viscount Beaumont, and his wife, my sister Jocelyn. No one knew it when they wed, but he is your princess’s grandson. In truth, he has a legitimate claim to the title of prince, although he chooses not to use it. I’m certain you will wish to speak with him about her.”
“I had hoped to, but I had heard he, as well as his mother, were not in England at the present time.”
Tatiana’s tone was offhand, but her gaze on the couple was intent. That was obviously the cousin she had never met, and Matt wondered if her newfound promise of honesty would extend to him.
“His mother has returned to London and is planning a small reception next week.” She leaned close to Tatiana. “We shall make certain you are invited. That will be the perfect opportunity for you to meet her and inquire about the princess.
“Lord Beaumont and my sister returned from Avalonia only recently, as did Thomas and my brother, Richard. There have been some political difficulties there in recent months, but apparently all is resolved now.” The lady cast Tatiana a curious glance. “But then, you, no doubt, are far more familiar with the situation than I.”
“I have been away from my country for a rather long time, my lady,” Tatiana said smoothly.
“Unfortunately, I am not as well versed with the political climate as I should be.”
Matt raised a brow but held his tongue.
“I’m not certain any of us are.” Lady Helmsley shrugged. “I consider myself quite well read, yet even I am not as informed as I should be. However, Lord Beaumont is most up to date on current affairs in your
county. He will be a fount of all kinds of interesting information.” Lady Helmsley beamed at Tatiana. “I cannot believe the stroke of luck that has brought you here.”
“Nor can I.” Tatiana smiled pleasantly.
“The world is a remarkably small place,” Matt said, trying not to grin.
“Isn’t it, though?” Lady Helmsley tucked her arm through Tatiana’s. “Now, then, my dear, you must meet everyone.”
“I would like nothing better.” There was a gleam in Tatiana’s eye that did not bode well. What was she up to now? She handed him her empty glass. “Would you be so good as to fetch me another? I find I am rather parched.”
“Certainly.” He leveled her a discreet warning glance. “I shall join you in a moment.”
“Excellent.” Lady Helmsley nodded, then steered Tatiana away. “I think we have a great deal in common. I write a bit myself. Nothing as complicated as the history of a royal family. Stories, really, not at all serious, but great fun…”