The hunger in his voice inspired a
tremendous rush of sentiment in her, and she tenderly ran her fingertips over
his face. “My dearest Ratcliffe . . .”
Their mouths melded again with a wild
urgency, so full of feeling she wanted to weep from the joy of it. Nothing had
ever felt so right as his weight upon her. He sipped from her lips, then his
mouth trailed down to the hollow of her throat and to her breasts. Desire
kindled in her, much richer and deeper this time, for the closeness of their
bodies gave the moment an even greater significance. She was keenly aware of
him, hard and hot against her thigh, and then he was parting her legs, pushing
inside of her. The sting of his entry caught her by surprise, and when she
gasped, he soothed her with a swift conciliatory kiss.
“Forgive me. Are you .
. . in pain?”
His intense gaze searched hers. He was breathing hard, holding
himself very still. The discomfort melted into a glorious sense of fullness, and
she arched her hips, the better to feel him. “Oh . . . it’s
heaven
.”
The light of passion flared in his eyes, and he began to move
inside of her, each plunge delivering a bolt of pleaure to her senses. She
wrapped her arms and legs around him in an effort to bring him ever closer.
Hearts beating as one, they found a shared rhythm that carried them deeper and
deeper into the frantic throes of passion.
With exquisite control, he
whispered encouragements
in her ear, kissing her until
a liquid heat suffused her entire body. The rising tension took her on a wild
ride to the pinnacle. Only as she shuddered and cried out in the maelstrom of
release did he join her there, groaning her name on one final thrust.
They
clung to each other in the aftermath, drawing in long gasps of air. As her
wildly hammering heartbeat returned to normal, Portia floated in a haze of pure
happiness. After a time, he shifted position so that they lay side by side. He
gathered her close and kissed her brow while she settled her head onto the hard
pillow of his shoulder.
Snuggling closer, she sighed. “I never knew . . .
never
dreamed
. . . how wonderful it would be. Is it always like
that?”
“It is with you.”
Colin knew the answer was inadequate. The trouble
was, he couldn’t quite express in words the magnitude of what they had just
shared because it had knocked him off kilter. He’d had more than his fair share
of trysts with loose women. His bodily appetites had been slaked many times over
the years. But now, those episodes paled in comparison to his union with
Portia—because he had never before realized the difference between mere coupling
and making love.
It was a stunning revelation for a man of nine-and-twenty to
make. Especially one who had prided himself on his sexual prowess.
He held
Portia close, marveling at the perfect peace he felt in her arms. She had a wit
that made him laugh, a spirit that kept him on his toes, and a strength that
both frustrated and fascinated him. If truth be told, he didn’t ever want to
move from this spot beside her. They could carry him away in a casket fifty
years from now, and he would have died a happy man.
Portia was idly exploring his torso as if to acquaint
herself with every aspect of his body. Her fingers met the scar on his upper arm
where she had shot him. Uttering a mournful cry, she lifted herself up to lean
over and plant a soft kiss there. “I’d forgotten all about this. I could have
killed you!”
At her stricken expression, he tried not to grin. “I’m glad
you’ve finally realized that.”
“Oh, do stop. You
know
I never meant
for that pistol to go off.”
“I don’t know any such thing. At the time, you
held me in utter contempt.”
Did she still? Her indictment against him just
that morning had been scathing. In her view, he was nothing more than a rake and
a scapegrace, and to a degree, she was right. He had sown his wild oats for a
long time, so why
should
she believe him when he said he was ready to set
down roots?
Her lips curved in a come-hither smile. She draped herself over
him, her legs entwining with his. “I confess, my contempt was merely a mask.
Even back then, I was desperate to hide my desire for you, my lord.”
He
sucked in a breath. It was too soon, all of his strength had been drained, yet
he felt an undeniable stirring in his loins. “Indeed?”
“Yes. From the moment
we met, I’ve wanted you.” She moved her hips lightly against him. “Oh,
Ratcliffe, for so long I’ve been yearning to be with you like this.”
His
chest contracted. He’d fantasized for weeks about hearing her say just that. But
now it wasn’t enough, damn it. He wanted her to say she’d been pining in love
with him. Because
he
had been pining. It was a shock to face that truth:
He was in love with Portia.
Hopelessly, madly, completely in love with the
one
woman who, in her own words, refused to be bullied
into marriage.
Hiding his quandary, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “It’s
about time you addressed me by my given name.”
“Colin . . . but do you really
mind Ratcliffe so very much?” Her hand crept downward, exploring him with bold
curiosity. “I’ve grown rather fond of the name.”
He released a groan. “You
can call me Robin Hood or even Maid Marian so long as you keep touching me like
that.”
Her smile was that of a siren who has just learned the extent of her
powers. “Does that mean we can do it again?”
“As often as you like.”
He
cradled her face in his hands and kissed her long and deep. Then he devoted
himself to teaching her all the myriad ways they could arouse each other. It
resulted in an orgy of pleaure that left them both blissfully exhausted.
Much
later, the fire on the hearth had died down, and she lay sleeping in his arms.
Colin stared into the darkness and wondered if she’d considered the possible
consequences of their lovemaking. He had always taken care not to sire any
offspring. His women had all had their tricks for avoiding pregnancy. But Portia
had taken no such precautions. And when he thought of her growing large with his
child, a primal ache gripped his gut. By God, he would never allow his son or
daughter to grow up without him as a father.
He almost hoped she had
conceived because then she would have to wed him, whether she liked it or not.
Let her put that damned dowry in trust for their children, for all he cared. It
had been nothing but a thorn in his side, and somehow he would find a way to
shore up his finances without it.
Now that he’d
made the decision, he couldn’t wait to tell her. Yet he had to wait.
Peering
down at her through the shadows, he felt shaken by a powerful surge of love. Not
for the world would he disturb her much-needed rest. They could talk in the
morning, and maybe, after the spectacular night they’d shared, she would finally
see the advantages of marrying him.
On that hopeful thought, he closed his
eyes and slipped into a deep slumber. But when he awakened after dawn, she was
gone.
CHAPTER 23
Portia
unlatched the front door and slipped out of the house. It was early, so there
were no servants about yet, except perhaps in the kitchen. She might have been
the only person in the world.
Pausing on the porch, she took a deep breath of
brisk morning air. The stone column felt cool to her bare fingertips. She had
been in such a dreamlike state while dressing that she had forgotten her gloves.
It was a wonder she’d remembered to don shoes and stockings.
After descending
the short flight of steps, she followed the curve of the drive until it
disappeared around a bend near a stand of willow trees. There she stood looking
over the hilly landscape. A flock of starlings swooped and swirled against a
blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. Only a few sounds disturbed the
silence: the twittering of a bird, the baaing of a sheep somewhere in the
distance, the whisper of the breeze through the leaves.
The peaceful setting
served as a reminder that all was right with the world. Nothing had changed but
herself.
A short while ago, she had awakened in Ratcliffe’s bed. Cloaked in
shadow, he had been sprawled on his back sound asleep, his arm thrown over his
head. The sight of his nude body had riveted her. How she had wanted to kiss
him, to enjoy the pleaure of his embrace
one more
time. But after driving the coach all night on their journey here, he needed his
sleep. And she dared not dally past dawn for fear a servant might discover them
in bed together.
The very thought made her blush. In the light of day, it was
a bit shocking to face the fact that she had willingly offered herself to a man.
And not just any man, but the notorious Lord Ratcliffe.
Yet how very
different he was from the scandalous rogue he presented to the world. The snobs
of society couldn’t guess—nor would they have cared—that he had gone out of his
way to help Bane and Hannah and other servants. Or that he had such a keen
interest in the care and cultivation of his land.
And the most amazing secret
of all was that he possessed the principles of a true gentleman. He would not
have forced her into his bed—even though he’d had her at his mercy. Thank
heavens she’d mustered the courage to approach him, for otherwise their
marvelous night together would never have happened.
And she would not have
been forever transformed.
The difference in her went far beyond the physical
loss of her innocence. To be sure, a slight soreness lingered and her reputation
lay in tatters. Yet in her heart, she had gained so very much. Intimacy with
Ratcliffe had left her feeling enriched and blessed, as if her eyes had been
opened and her childhood left behind. Now she could see clearly that her
feelings for Arun had been the infatuation of a young girl. At last she had
learned the difference between mere affection and womanly love.
Ratcliffe
would be the perfect husband, the man of her dreams—if only he could curb his
profligate nature.
She kicked a piece of gravel with her toe, sending it
sailing into the underbrush. Curse him for romancing so
many women. And curse him twice for being a gambler!
Her arms swinging,
Portia continued down the drive. Her burst of anger died a quick death as
another thought occurred to her. Perhaps she should be praising his flaws, not
denouncing them. Because if he hadn’t had those weaknesses, in all likelihood he
would have already settled down and married another woman. And he wouldn’t have
been in need of funds. Which meant he wouldn’t have approached Portia with the
intention of gaining her dowry.
She laughed aloud at her convoluted
reasoning. No, she wouldn’t waste time wishing Ratcliffe’s past could be
changed. Rather, she should concentrate on the goodness in him, the true
character that few people bothered to see. If he could be persuaded to stay out
of London and away from the gaming tables, then perhaps he could mend his wicked
ways.
Who better than a wife to hold him close and encourage him?
Portia
came to a complete stop in the middle of the drive. Drawing a shaky breath, she
found herself enthralled by the notion of devoting the rest of her life to him.
How wonderful it would be to live here in the country, to raise a family, to
grow old together.
To have every night be as superb as the one they had just
shared.
Desire began a slow burn inside her. Ratcliffe hadn’t spoken words of
love, she reminded herself. But he had held her in a cherishing manner,
whispering endearments in her ears. If only they could nurture their closeness,
perhaps love would soon follow. She had to at least give him that
chance.
Without conscious thought, she found herself turning
back toward the house, a lightness in her steps. How
foolish she had been to leave Ratcliffe’s bed. Every moment with him was a
precious gift that must not be squandered. If her father had gone off to
Scotland yesterday, then it might be several more days before he found her here.
In the meantime, she and Ratcliffe could be together. She wanted to know about
every aspect of his life, to see the estate, to wander through his house, arm in
arm.
Did couples make love in the middle of the day? What was to stop them
from stealing into a deserted room, locking the door, and engaging in a
clandestine bout of pleaure?
Oh, heaven.
She would have to raise that
wicked notion with Ratcliffe at the first opportunity.
The distant sound of
an approaching carriage shattered her fantasy. The quiet was broken by the
clatter of wheels and the thudding of horse hooves. Curious, she glanced over
her shoulder, but the trees masked the oncoming visitor from view. It was too
early for any of the local gentry to call, unless there was some sort of an
emergency.
Or . . . what if it was her father? What if he hadn’t fallen for
the ruse, after all?
A sudden chill made her shiver.
No.
She mustn’t
let herself panic. It was more likely an acquaintance of Ratcliffe’s, someone
who had found out about his arrival yesterday.
Nevertheless, Portia picked up
her skirts and darted toward the house. It wouldn’t do for her to be seen here,
not even by a neighbor. Sticky questions would arise as to why a lady was
staying under Ratcliffe’s roof without the benefit of a chaperone. And
unfortunately, there was nowhere to hide out here on the wide graveled drive.
The house was as close as the nearest concealment of trees.