House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas (3 page)

She gripped his back, the skin warm and firm beneath her palms.

His mouth moved lower, over the upper swell of her breast. His tongue swiped along the top edge of her stays as his hand bunched her skirt, pulling it up, dragging her body even more tightly against his, grinding his hardened sex against her belly.

Without removing his lips from her body, he nudged her back onto the bed until they were both seated on its edge again. His fingers rimmed the top edge of her garter and then moved up, sliding over her bare thigh.

She shuddered violently as he drew closer to her center, and then his fingers cupped the curls that hid her womanhood, and she gasped, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder.

He parted the lips of her sex, his fingertips stroking, caressing.

“God, Amelia,” he murmured. “You’re so slick. So hot. Is that for me?”

“Evan.” Her voice shook. She gripped him tighter, her lips moving over his collar, her tongue tasting the masculine, salty flavor of his neck.

Slowly, he pushed a finger inside her.

“Oh!” she cried out, her body arching against him.

He pulled almost all the way out and then slid into her again, stroking against her sensitive walls.

“You’re so tight, Amelia. So sweet. God,” he groaned, his lips gliding over her chin and chest then pressing soft kisses against the top of her breast, “I want you. I want you around my cock.”

“So do I.” She nearly groaned it. She wanted him more than anything. Wanted to feel him pushing inside her. Wanted him to claim her so deep and so hard he’d mark her forever.

Keeping his hand between her legs, still working his finger into her slick inner flesh, making her pant and squirm with the wonder of it, he moved to lie on his side of the bed, dragging her down with him. She came willingly, mindless from the fire of pleasure he stoked between her legs.

Pulling his hand from her, he stroked the inside skin of her thigh, painting her with her own slickness as his hot, wet kisses returned to her mouth.

He rolled them so that he was above her, the heat and heaviness of his body over hers. She wrapped her arms around him. With a few flicks of his hand, he released the falls of his trousers, and the skin of his hardness pressed, silky and hot, against her center. She bucked up against him, wanting all of it. Wanting him.

But then his soft brown gaze captured hers, and he froze, pinning her shoulder to the bed with one large hand so she couldn’t move either. Stilling, she gazed up at him, feeling the heat shining in her eyes.

“Amelia?” There was so much in his expression—need, emotion, longing…even fear.

“Please,” she rasped out.

He closed his eyes with a long blink.

“Do you…want this?” His voice was rough with desire.

“Yes.” She couldn’t recall ever wanting anything more.

He let out a long, hissing breath. He released her shoulder, and then, with a low groan, he buried himself inside her, stretching her to her limits. She could do nothing but wrap her arms back around him and hold on tight as he surged deep.

He braced his forearms on the bed, kissing her as he moved, stroking her, filling her. She tilted her pelvis to meet his every powerful thrust, whimpering as he touched places so deep and so private within her.

She grabbed handfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer, deeper, kissing him everywhere her lips could seek out his skin. He twisted his hips as he ground against her, sparking a new fire within her. And each time he thrust, he hit that spot, fueling the fire, building the flames until she was mindless with crackling heat, her muscles tightening and her every nerve finally exploding into flames.

She cried out in pleasure, her body undulating from a force she couldn’t control as he continued to rock heavily into her.

“Amelia,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. And as the flames within her subsided and the tension in her muscles drained away, he went rigid over her. Then he pulled free, and she felt the pulsing spill of his release against her thigh as he held her tight, groaning low against her neck.

He collapsed on the bed beside her, his body pressed against hers, her clothes and his a tangle between them.

Amelia lay still with her eyes half shut as languor stretched through her limbs and her mind. She couldn’t tell if Evan was conscious, but he certainly wasn’t moving.

She spent an untold amount of time basking in the feeling of contentment that flooded her body. But slowly, another feeling, an unwelcome one, began to creep in.

What on earth had she just done?

She’d lost her mind. She’d gone mad.

She lay frozen, but slowly her languid muscles began to contract once more, and her heart pounded so loudly she was surprised Evan didn’t complain about the noise.

She’d had carnal relations with Evan. Evan
Cameron
. The one man…the only man she’d ever believed she’d loved. And the only man she’d ever believed she hated. A man she hadn’t seen in seven years and no longer knew anything about.

She was definitely insane.

Panic twisted in her stomach. If there was somewhere to go, somewhere to escape, she would. But it was snowing outside, and even if she left this little room, she might encounter the duke or someone else she knew.

Evan sensed her unease. He turned to her, and his expression made her mouth go dry. It was so…reverent.

“I, uh…” she began, but the words fizzled away. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I…usually…I…am not like that. Not that kind of woman.”

“Not what kind of woman?” his voice was low and soft. Smooth as cream.

“I don’t…” She gulped in a breath, trying to calm the swirling panic. She waved her hand at the tangle of clothes between them. “This…”

“Ah.” His lips curved into a soft smile and he touched her cheek with a fingertip. “I know.”

She pulled in a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I was thinking…”

“I don’t think either of us was thinking,” he murmured. “Maybe we were just…reacting.”

He smoothed the clothing between them as best he could, then adjusted himself until they were face to face. With his fingertips, he combed through her hair—which had fallen out of its chignon—and cupped the back of her head. He bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth.

When he pulled back, he gave her a wry smile. “I don’t really know what happened either. I was the one who promised to be a gentleman.” The smile faded. “I am not usually a man who reneges on his promises, Amelia. I am sorry.”

She released a long, slow breath. It seemed both of them had been carried away.

“Stay here,” he ordered. He rose and pulled on his trousers, then took the one step to the basin lying on the tiny pedestal table in the corner by the door. He dipped a cloth in the basin and squeezed it before returning to her. He came back to her side and cleaned her gently between the legs, then swiped the cloth over her sticky thigh before arranging her skirts once more. He rebuttoned her dress, then helped her to sit up at the foot of the bed.

She gazed at him as he adjusted his own clothing. His trousers were thick black wool, but his shirt was a billowing white linen, and with his dark hair, dark eyes, and the dark shadow on his jaw, he looked rather wild. Dangerous.

She clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. She’d never been in this situation before, and she didn’t know how to react, what to say.

She had no idea where they would go from here.

E
van gazed at her. She was even more beautiful now than she’d been earlier, with her tousled blond hair and flushed cheeks. But he had a sinking feeling he’d pushed her too far, too fast. What had he been thinking?

She’d just been so hot, so eager and willing. He’d wanted her beyond reason. He hadn’t been thinking. He’d only wanted to feel. He’d wanted to make her his. And she’d felt…beyond perfect.

Now, though…there was no choice but to think.

He watched her carefully, hoping to hell he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Because he already wanted her again. He wanted her tonight, tomorrow, for Christmas and beyond. He had the feeling he’d never stop wanting her.

He sensed her withdrawal in the closed language of her body, in her clasped hands and the tight line of her lips.

No. He couldn’t let her slip through his fingers. He’d allowed it before, because they’d both been young and he didn’t know better. But now he was home, he was in England to stay, and Amelia was here, too. He’d known her all her life, but she was a woman now, and more than the girl he’d once admired. She was beautiful, intelligent, passionate—everything he’d ever wanted in a woman.

They were trapped in this tiny room for at least one night. He’d make the most of it.

He lowered himself beside her on the bed and took her hand in his own, turning it over and tracing the lines on her palm. Her hand was small and delicate, with short, clean nails, and no calluses or any other marks upon it.

She was a lady, the daughter of an earl. Privileged from birth.

“When we were children, I always thought you to be so far above me,” he murmured.

She jerked in surprise, but he continued, closing his hand over hers. “When I was ten years old, I informed my mother that I would marry you.”

Amelia went stiff and still beside him, and he continued, “She laughed and told me that you were the eldest daughter of an earl; that your father would surely want to marry you to a man with a title, not a mere gentleman, which was all I was destined to be.”

Amelia huffed out a breath. “I did end up marrying a gentleman.”

“Yes.” Part of the reason the news had hurt him so much. He’d felt betrayed to learn that the man she’d ultimately married was no higher on the social ladder than he was. He turned to her, studying her as he asked, “Why?”

“Why didn’t I marry someone with a title?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged. “I was Pudge.”

“Amelia—”

She stared at his hands covering hers in her lap as if they held the mysteries of the world, and gave a humorless laugh. “It’s true. I was Pudge, and everyone knew Pudge was unworthy. No titled gentlemen spared me a second glance during my London Season, and I didn’t want to be forced to endure another. So I married Edmund Witherspoon, who was far past his prime and lame and who had a bad heart.” She gave him a pained smile. “But Edmund was kind, which was much more than I could say for so many others. And Papa agreed to the marriage because he is a good father, and he wanted me to be happy.”

No titled gentlemen had spared her a second glance? How was that even possible? But a part of him knew. She’d always been shy and unassuming, always had the ability to melt into a crowd if she wanted to.

It was those men’s loss if they hadn’t noticed her. Idiots.

“Pudge wasn’t unworthy,” he said softly, hearing the conviction in his own voice.

She angled her face to gaze up at him, her sky-blue eyes shining. “It was more than that, though. Don’t you remember?”

He shook his head, confused.

“Do you remember the last time we saw each other?”

“Of course. It was the night before I was to leave for Cambridge.” His mother and father had thrown him a grand farewell party that night, inviting friends and neighbors from miles around. Amelia had come with her parents. She’d been a sweet, shy sixteen, and he remembered how his heart had stuttered when she’d walked into the party, how pretty and pink-cheeked she’d been that night. How he’d wanted, that whole summer, to find a way to get her alone so he could kiss her.

It had never happened.

She looked back down at her hands, now twisting them in her lap. He gazed at her profile, seeing the color high on her cheeks. The same color flooded her cheeks tonight as it had that night so long ago.

Arousal tugged at him again, but he concentrated on her, wanting to know what had happened to hone these new sharp edges within her that hadn’t been there when they were children.

“Do you remember what you told Fletcher Henry and George MacBride?”

“Fletcher Henry and George MacBride,” he repeated, his tone musing. Onetime friends and neighbors. “I haven’t seen those two in a long time.”

Even now, the thought of Fletcher and George put a sour feeling in his gut. Their friendship had ended that night for a reason.

She shrugged. “George lives near Cheltham House, so I see him and his family on occasion. He’s married and has fathered two children. I don’t know what happened to Fletcher.”

“I encountered him in France a few years ago,” Evan said. “I believe he resides in India now.”

She nodded, looking down, her shoulders tense.

His gaze sharpened on her. “What did I tell them?”

“Don’t you remember?” she pressed.

Hell. It was years ago. Still, he remembered what had happened like it was yesterday. But Amelia hadn’t been present. He’d made sure to protect her from all that.

“Did you overhear something?” he asked her, frowning.

She raised her gaze to the door, looking at it as if she wanted to bolt out of the room, as if she were imprisoned here and that door was her only means of escape. He threaded his fingers with hers and gripped her hand in both of his.

“You were out in the garden,” she said softly. “I’d followed you out, hoping to catch you alone—” She broke off suddenly, then turned her gaze to him, and he saw the old Amelia, that raw, hopeful shyness that had always brought him such pleasure.

“I wished to say my good-byes to you…in private,” she whispered. “I thought…well, I wanted to give you a good-bye kiss.”

The color deepened on her flushed cheeks, and it was so sweet, considering all they had just done, that she’d be flustered by her youthful desire to kiss him good-bye.

He squeezed her hand and leaned down to brush a soft kiss over her cheek. “Like that?”

She chewed on her lower lip. “No.” There was a rough edge to her voice. “I thought…I thought I’d kiss your lips. I’d…I’d been thinking of your lips all summer. Of how they’d feel against my own. I’d never been kissed before and I wanted…wanted you to be the first.”

He gazed at her in wonder. “I wanted the same thing. I spent that summer trying to dream up ways to get you alone so I could taste you.”

Her eyes widened at that, but then she shook her head as if in disbelief, and she looked away from him again. “I found you in the gardens, but you weren’t alone. You were with George and Fletcher…and you were talking. About me.”

His heart sank. George was such a bastard, and then Fletch…“Which part of the conversation did you hear?”

“You were telling them that…” She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. They shone brightly in the dimming light of the room. She took a long, deep breath before continuing in a shaking voice, “That you couldn’t bear to look at me. That I was a fat, lazy cow who didn’t deserve their attentions.”

Evan shot to his feet and looked down at her, aghast. “Jesus, Pudge…
Amelia
. No!” And then something sick twisted in his gut. “That was Fletch. He said that.”

She gazed down at her lap. “Yes…he said it first, but then you repeated what he said, and you…you
agreed
with him.”

Evan closed his eyes. She was right.

“I’d thought…I thought you liked me. I thought we were friends.”

Oh, God. “We were.”

She shook her head. “When I heard you say those things about me, I felt…” She didn’t seem to be able to finish, and her eyelashes fluttered rapidly as if she was trying to clear away tears.

Just like that, his gut tied into knots so tight he could hardly breathe. He sank down onto his knees before her, his heels touching the door. “You don’t understand what happened. You have it all wrong.”

She shook her head. “I know what I heard. You sounded…you sounded
disgusted
with me when you said those things.”

“I
was
disgusted. But not with you. I was disgusted and angry with George and Fletcher.”

He remembered the entire conversation. He’d been in a rage and a panic, trying to think of ways to scare George off from pursuing Amelia, wondering if he should demand pistols at dawn or just punch the bastard in the face and get it over with.

Then, when Fletcher had surprised them both by saying how unappealing she was, he’d seen George’s reaction, and he’d known, to his gut, that if he agreed with Fletcher, George would leave Amelia alone.

He had agreed to the words “cow” and “lazy” and “fat” in reference to Amelia. And she had heard him.

Jesus. He pressed two fingers to the top of the bridge of his nose and squeezed tight.

He’d been thinking of making George stop looking at her with lust in his eyes. That was all. He hadn’t been thinking of the real meaning behind those words, or of what would happen if gentle, kind Amelia heard them and took them to heart.

He
had
been her friend. And he’d betrayed her horribly. And now, her behavior towards him made complete sense.

His head bowed.

“George wanted you,” he said gruffly. “From the moment you stepped foot in the house that night, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. He told Fletcher and me to meet him in the gardens because he wanted to share his plans to seduce you. To…
ruin
you.” Even now, Evan couldn’t keep the bitter anger from his voice.

“I was furious with him,” he continued in a low voice. “I didn’t want him looking at you, much less touching you. I wanted him to stay the hell away from you. I couldn’t think of how to do that. If I told him that I wanted you, that I would protect you from him, I knew from experience that that would only rouse his competitive instincts, make him more interested, more determined to have you first.”

He reached out and braced his hands on the bed on either side of her. “I was enraged. I wasn’t thinking straight. And I did the only thing I knew without a doubt would erase that lustful look from his expression. When Fletch slandered you, I agreed with him. I pretended you were nothing to me, that you weren’t worthy. I lied to George about you because I wanted him to stop lusting after you.”

He took a breath. “I am not proud of myself for speaking of you like that. But hell if I wouldn’t do it again to protect you, Amelia.”

She stared at him, her eyes still glassy. And she spoke in a quiet voice. “You said that about me to
protect
me?”

“Yes.”

Her lips firmed, and she shook her head. “You wouldn’t have agreed if it didn’t contain a glimmer of truth. If it was all lies, you wouldn’t have been convincing enough. A part of you really did believe those things.”

“No.”

“I know a part of me believed them.”

“You shouldn’t have believed any of it.”

“Why not?” she challenged. “I
was
pudgy, Evan. I had always preferred more sedentary pursuits over active ones. And not only was there a glimmer of truth to everything you said, you said it with such complete conviction. You, the one boy I trusted. The boy I admired and thought I…thought I loved.”

His gaze locked on hers. “You loved me?”

“I
thought
I did,” she corrected. “Until I heard you saying those things about me.” Her voice lowered. “How quickly a few words can erase an emotion that one believes is a permanent resident in her heart and turn it into something dark and ugly.”

He recalled the look on her face when she first saw him in the snow. That dislike. No, not dislike.
Hatred
.

And yet, he’d brought her here and she’d allowed him to make love to her. Was that why such heavy regret washed over her features now?

Damn. He had really made a bungle of things. All his memories of Lady Amelia for the past several years had been pleasant ones based on his high esteem for her and the pleasant recollections he had of her. Yet her memories of him…God. They had been hellish. She’d been living under the belief that he had betrayed her in a horrible way. Worse, those words had driven beneath her skin and had attacked her on a far deeper level.

He moved his hands down her arms until they clasped her fingers. Raising her hands to his lips, he kissed her knuckles.

“I never meant to hurt you. The thought that I have…” He shook his head. “The last thing I ever wanted in this world was to hurt you.”

She shrugged as if to dismiss it, yet he still could clearly see the shadows in her eyes and the tightness in her carefully schooled expression. “It happened many years ago.”

“And you have held onto it for that long. It was why you refused to get into my carriage, wasn’t it?”

She nodded tightly, glancing at the door again as if she wished to escape. Then she closed her eyes. “What a disaster this has been. I should have stayed home. I wish I’d listened to John about the weather.”

That cut him. If she’d stayed in London, he’d have never made love to her. What she was ultimately saying now was that she regretted it. That it was a
disaster
.

Shoving down his raw reaction to her words, he kept his voice even as he asked, “And miss being with your family for Christmas?”

“I’m not with my family, though, am I?”

“I still intend to have you to Cheltham House tomorrow.”

“Do you think the storm will clear?”

“It had better.” He was determined to get her home, even if the storm still raged. He’d find a way. It was one thing he could do to make things right.

He touched her cheek, bringing her focus back to him. “Amelia.”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. She allowed the kiss for scant seconds, then pulled back, her gaze unfocused. He held her soft jaw cupped in his palm for a few moments, then he dropped his hand and drew away.