Silent Surrender (8 page)

He grimaced as he faced her again. “I did. I’m not proud of it. But he would have killed me.”

“What were you fighting over?” Was it a woman? She did not think she would enjoy hearing that particular tale, if it was.

“Not a girl,” he told her with a sly smile. He’d understood her, she realized, almost amused at the unfairness of it. Could he read her emotions on her face that easily? “A card game.”

Something twisted in her chest. Esau lived a life she could not comprehend, if men would be killed over a simple game of cards. It made her feel distant from him, and the distance made her cold.

He lifted her foot to his lips and gave it a quick kiss before releasing it. “Give me the other one.”

She obliged him, watching his face as he concentrated on his task. There was nothing sexual in his touch, but still she squirmed to see his hands on her. She burned for him, had burned for him all night at the party, and she knew that the exquisite agony would only get worse, since it had yet to get better. She would not tire of his touch during the long week, she could be comforted by that much.

He was so gentle with her. Those same hands had taken a man’s life, and he spoke of it so casually. But she was far past fear of him. “He attacked you,” she said, not asking, already knowing the answer.

And it was good, because the memory clearly troubled him. He nodded and did not look at her. One of his hands slid up over her calf to the back of her knee, raising her leg higher. He bent and kissed her foot as he had the other, but his lips lingered, and soon he pressed open-mouthed kisses across her sole. She pressed her thighs together, caught between a desire to close her eyes and surrender to the sensation and the need to watch him as he nibbled at her unexpectedly sensitive foot. He took her toe into his mouth and she gripped the edges of the tub.

He smiled up at her. “I’ve thought all day how to make it up to you. This afternoon…that was wrong of me. I should have seen to you.”

She thought for a moment that she had misunderstood him, then she thought of the parlor and how he had spent before she climaxed. It was silly of him to apologize for it. She’d never felt so proud, so in control. He had succumbed because of her, because of the pleasure he’d taken in her body. That had been what sped her to release, remembering the pulse of him inside her and the way his neck had corded, his body tight above her.

“Tonight, it will be better,” he promised, licking over her calf, beside her knee. One hand dipped below the water, his thumb idly stroking her thigh, edging closer and closer to her sex.

His deep voice rumbled, and she suspected he talked to himself, as he did sometimes when they were together. Still, she peeked at him and saw the words “so much more I want to show you” upon his lips.

“Yes,” she said, her throat dry. “I want it all, Esau.”

He lifted his head, a mixture of shock and desire on his face. His fingers brushed against her mound and she held her breath. She was wet already, a different kind of wet, heavier and slicker than the water in the tub, and her channel clenched. She wanted him to stroke her, but he teased her, barely stirring her hair, his knuckles bumping her thigh. She lifted her hips to him, and he pulled his hand back.

“Where’s your sponge?” he asked, patting her knee. “You need that, before we forget.”

“Beside the washstand.”

He got to his feet, and she pushed up on boneless arms and legs to rise from the water. In an instant he was beside her, helping her up. He had the small, foamy object in his hand, brown with brandy, and she made to reach for it, but he shook his head. “Part your legs,” he instructed, pushing a hand between her thighs. “Hold on to me.”

She did as he asked, her face hot with embarrassment. This was almost too intimate, his thick fingers finding her opening, pushing gently until the small object entered her. She rested her hands on his shoulders, her knees almost buckling when his finger followed the sponge, pressing it farther, until it rested at a place of resistance.

The brandy stung, but not as much as it had the first time, when she’d been dry and nervous. It was easy enough to ignore, for Esau moved his finger in and out a few times, his thumb pressed against her aching bud. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and he raised his head, and she saw her own hunger reflected in his gaze. He kissed her, without urgency but not without passion, and she savored the feeling of his tongue on hers, the roughness of the stubble on his cheek. All the while, he worked his finger inside her, his thumb over her, constantly circling, and she circled too, higher and higher. She leaned against him, panting, and he took his fingers away, leaving her whimpering.

He lifted her in his arms and took her to the bed, not bothering to dry her body, and the air pricked her with cold as she rested on the duvet. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, his strong shoulders rippling with the motion in the low light. What a wonder were men’s bodies. It seemed a shame to keep them hidden under layers of clothing.

From the way Esau looked at her, Honoria wondered if he felt the same about women. He covered her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. His trousers remained between them, and she lifted herself against him as he kissed her. It was more exciting, somehow, to be entirely nude while he remained somewhat clothed. His kisses traveled to her neck, down to her breasts, and he lingered there, laving one nipple then the other, until she thought she might die. Under his lips and teeth, her breasts tightened almost painfully, shocks of pleasure racing through her belly to stab at her straining bud. As he drew on her taut flesh, it was as though his mouth was on her sex, and she clutched first at his head, then at the bedclothes, as her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

She knew she should be discreet as he had taught her, but it was impossible not to cry out in wonder when a surprising climax took her. It was mild in comparison to what she had felt before, but still pleasantly disconcerting. Esau looked just as shocked as she felt. He said something, but she couldn’t possibly care, for the slight taste of release only spurred her desire higher. She ached to tell him what she needed, but it took so much concentration to remember to speak.

He rose from the bed and slowly undid his trousers, and her breath caught when she saw his cock. It was a kind of relief to see him naked, to know in a moment he would be inside her body. She reached out and took him in her hand, wrapping her other arm around his waist to drawn him down.

He pushed her hands away gently and lay on the bed, motioning for her to come to him. When she did, he patted his lap. Did he mean for her to… She bit her lip, uncertain how to proceed.

“Come on,” he said, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He guided her into position, helping her to throw one leg over him. His cock lay flat against his belly and she felt it leap up to thump against her core. Moving his hand between their bodies, he pushed himself into her, then lay back again, his hands on her waist to slowly lower her.

Honoria could only gape in wonder at the sensation as she parted around him, driving him deeper as her body sank down. His hands fell to her hips, then trailed up to her breasts and down again. He didn’t move, but he twitched inside her, making her impossibly full body feel even fuller. Almost afraid to move, she held her breath. The sensation was too much, bordering on pain, and when he lifted his hips beneath her she cried out and slapped both hands against his chest.

He shifted her body against his and his voice was a low, comforting rumble. It didn’t matter what he had said now. With her hips canted back, she felt the whole delicious length of him and he showed her how to move, slowly, until she felt the rhythm of it. With her hands braced against his shoulders, she rocked on him, her blood rushing to her tingling skin all over her body with every tug of friction inside her. When she pressed down, ground herself onto him, he rose, and it seemed as though he filled her entire body. She writhed her hips and tugged at the hair on his chest and he sat up, smashing their mouths together. The change in their position pressed him deep, so deep, and he wrapped his arms around her, imprisoning her, giving her no escape as he pumped into her. The pleasure became so keen that she sobbed aloud, and when her crisis took her, he smothered her cries with his kiss.

The rocking of his hips quickened and he lay back, his face flushed, neck corded with tension as he pulled her along with his motions. When he climaxed, it was with a shout she couldn’t read on his lips, and he laughed and wiped his hands down his face as she still sat astride him.

“Come here,” he said, capturing her hand and pulling it to his lips as he drew her to lie across his chest. The rise and fall of his breathing beneath her ear moved her head, and her body still throbbed around his softening cock. Her hair lay damp across her forehead and he pushed it back gently.

She raised her head to see his face when she asked, “Sleep with me tonight?”

If he had looked at all hesitant or unwilling, she would have taken it back. To her relief, he kissed her head and nodded, helping her to lie beside him, tucked comfortably at her side.

Her eyes had almost closed when he tapped a finger against her shoulder, and she lifted her head, her vision bleary for a moment, so that she had to ask him to repeat what he’d said.

“You love Jude,” he said, and when she did not answer, he took her shock for misunderstanding. He pointed to the door, and said, “Him. You love him.”

Her throat went dry. Was it so obvious? How could he possibly know? She sat up and scrambled beneath the turned-down covers, hoping that he might just let it go by if she didn’t answer him or pretended not to understand him. She didn’t wish to discuss Jude when she was in another man’s arms. It made her seem inconstant, and though she knew herself to be, she didn’t want anyone else to know it about her.

He touched her shoulder, and manners won out. She rolled over, unable to meet his gaze, but she nodded. When she looked up, she made certain to put some steel into her expression. She was his employer, wasn’t she? He must do as she desired and she certainly did not desire a conversation about the private wishes of her heart. But when she saw the kindness in his gaze, the mixture of pity and helpless, naked feeling, she began to cry.

Wordlessly, he held her against him, stroking her back as all the unshed tears she’d held back burst out. Her cheek stuck to his chest with the moisture, but still he held her. When her tears subsided, he lifted her chin.

“If you don’t want to go to France, don’t go.” He wiped beneath her eye with his rough thumb. “You can’t live your life for the wishes of your father. He’s in a good place, with enough sense now to know that it would be a tragedy for you to live and die in some foreign country, shut away from happiness. If you love Jude, live with him. It might not be the lifestyle you’re accustomed to, but if you’re happy—”

“He won’t have me,” she said, her throat raw. Had she shouted the house down again? “He wouldn’t before, he surely won’t now.”

“He might take some convincing,” Esau admitted. “But if he won’t have you…don’t go to France. I don’t have much, but I could help you. You could maybe find a husband, someone who can take care of you.”

Her heart sank a little, and she felt foolish for that. He had known her two days, and though they had spent long hours in intimate congress, he did not lie with her because he loved her. He was being paid, doing the job she’d hired him for. It was a fantasy to think he would offer himself.

Later, when Esau had fallen asleep, Honoria rose, careful not to wake him. He snored softly and rolled over, one long arm thrown over his head. She smiled to herself. If she could afford him, she would keep him in her employ for quite a long time, simply to enjoy the sharp lines of his muscular form.

She pulled on her robe and cinched the belt around her waist, and padded out of the room, thinking she might find solace in one of her novels. The heroines were always pulled between two men, but the ending was always clear: she chose one of them, and forever despaired for the love lost. That was not the ending she wanted for herself.

The study door was slightly open and firelight shone on the dark wood of the door. She frowned and pushed it open wider.

Jude sat in his chair, his posture slumped, one naked foot propped atop what appeared to be an empty brandy decanter. He looked up, his eyes bleary and red, and he said slowly, “I’m sorry. I am very drunk.”

Chapter Six

Of all the times for Honoria to capitulate to her insomnia, she couldn’t have picked a worse one. Jude had moved to the study, trying to block out the sounds of loud copulation on the floor above. He’d tried not to imagine what made her moan and scream, tried not to imagine that it was himself doing it to her. But after a few brandies, he’d been unable to ignore the vivid scenes in his mind. Another few, and he could taste her on his tongue, feel her thighs around his head. And after another, he couldn’t keep the thread of the fantasy straight and he could only wallow in frustrated lust.

She stood in the doorway in her black silk robe with the tasseled belt decorated like peacock feathers, and all he could think of was pulling it quickly undone.

“I interrupt?” she signed, looking apologetic.

Perhaps she didn’t notice quite how drunk he was, and for a moment he hoped he might fool her. But as he sat up, his foot pushed over the empty decanter and there was no possibility of her missing it.

“You upset.” She wasn’t asking a question, but indicting him.

He nodded, his gaze never wavering. He prayed that she would ask him why, and then he could tell her the truth, that he didn’t want her to leave, no matter what her father and his solicitor had decided upon.

But then she asked, “Why,” and he couldn’t make his bravery travel down his arms, and he wouldn’t say it out loud, for fear of being misunderstood.

So, he settled on a version of the truth that did not make his hands shake. “In the future you leave, I miss you.”

She nodded, her hand gliding in the vast space between them to say, “Same.”