She put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. Then she heard the faint murmur of voices drifting through the night. A couple was approaching on the conservatory path. Once again Anthony was kissing her in order to create the impression that they were engaged in an illicit affair.
Frustration seized her. She wanted him to kiss her in a way that showed he meant it.
A man chuckled. “It would seem we must find another secluded bower, my dear. This one is already occupied.”
The woman murmured something indistinguishable in response. Louisa realized that the voices were growing softer as the pair moved away into another section of the gardens, but she was no longer paying attention. All she could think about was the feel of Anthony’s arms around her. Heat flooded through her. It did not matter that the kiss had never been intended as an act of seduction. The impact was akin to a lightning bolt searing her already sensitive nerves. Everything inside her was ablaze.
“Anthony,” she breathed against his mouth.
He gave a soft, husky groan. His arm tightened. His mouth was suddenly rough and demanding. He was kissing her for real now. The same way she was kissing him. There was so much sizzling electricity
snapping and crackling between them she was vaguely surprised her hair was not standing on end. His hands moved on her back, closing fiercely around the snug bodice of her gown.
She was inexplicably frantic, shivering with need. Caught up in the maelstrom of a force she could only dimly comprehend, she clutched Anthony’s shoulders, hung on for dear life, and kissed him back.
He broke off the kiss and cupped her face between his hands. “Say my name again.”
In the shadowy glow of a nearby lantern his expression was not that of a gentle lover. What she saw in his face was a raw, compelling hunger that matched her own.
“Anthony.” She shivered but not from nerves this time. Anticipation pulsed through her. “Anthony.”
He took his hands away from her face and put them around her waist. Then he bent his head and kissed her throat. His mouth was wet and hungry on her skin. She felt his teeth at one point. An exquisite excitement made her catch her breath. This was what she needed. This desperate, intense passion would sear the twin images of Thurlow’s and Gavin’s bloodied heads from her thoughts, at least for a while.
Anthony scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the door of the conservatory.
“Open it,” he muttered.
She reached down, found the knob, and twisted. The door swung open, and a wave of humid warmth flowed over her. She inhaled the scents of greenery and flowers and freshly turned earth, the fragrance of life not death.
Anthony carried her through the opening and set her on her feet near a workbench. He reached back, closed and locked the door. Then he turned to her and pulled her to him again. His hands went to the fastenings of the bodice of her dress.
She was amazed to realize that his fingers, so skilled and sensitive with locks and keys, were actually
trembling. She could hear his breathing now. Hot. Urgent. When she touched him she discovered that the muscles of his shoulders beneath his coat were rigid.
Hope spiraled through her. He had loved his dear Fiona, but perhaps there was room in his heart for another woman.
Her bodice came undone. She was intensely grateful for the deep shadows around them. The thin fabric of her chemise was all that veiled her breasts.
He bent his head and kissed her throat. His thumb grazed a nipple, sending little tremors through her. She clutched at his shoulders, wanting to explore the strength and power she found there, wanting to learn him more intimately, but he gave her no chance.
“Louisa, you don’t know what you have done to me. I want you now. I need you.”
Without warning he lifted her and sat her on the edge of the workbench. Everything was happening so quickly. She could no longer think. On the other hand, thinking was the very last thing she wanted to do.
The next thing she knew his mouth had taken the place of his hand on her breast. He dampened the fabric of the chemise with his tongue.
The sense of need clawed at her. She threaded her fingers through Anthony’s hair. When his teeth closed around her nipple she gasped. Immediately he raised his head to silence her with another smoldering kiss.
He caught the skirts of her gown and pushed them up above her knees. His hands closed over her thighs above her stockings, pushing them apart.
Her pulse skittered wildly. She was still adjusting to the stunning intimacy of his touch when he slid his fingers inside the open-crotch seam of her lace-trimmed drawers. The searing heat of his palm on the most private portion of her anatomy was both utterly outrageous and exquisitely thrilling.
“You want me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Say it. You want me as badly as I want you.”
“Yes.” She tightened her hands in his hair. “Oh, yes.”
Her head was spinning. The world outside the conservatory ceased to matter. This was what it meant to be consumed by passion. She marveled at the exhilarating sensation. The novelists and playwrights were correct. This was why people got involved in illicit love affairs.
“You are so soft,” he said, stroking her intimately. “You are driving me mad.”
She realized that he was opening the front of his trousers. When she glanced down she caught a glimpse of his hand wrapped around his erection. He removed a square of white linen from another pocket and dropped it on the bench beside her.
Fascinated, she started to reach down to touch him, but he was already pushing himself into the melting core of her body. The pressure felt very, very good. She wanted more. Desperate, she urged him closer.
He gripped her buttocks and pulled her onto his shaft with a single violent thrust, sinking himself to the hilt inside her.
Pain arced across her overwrought senses. Jolted by the abrupt transition from unbearable desire to unpleasant reality, she gasped and went utterly still.
“Damnation.” Anthony froze, also. “You’re a virgin.”
“Well, yes, but I really don’t see that as the issue here.”
“Why in blazes didn’t you tell me that you were a virgin?”
He sounded furious. What right did he have to be angry at her? She was the one who was in pain.
“I did not think it was any of your business,” she said, her temper crackling to life.
“How can you say that it is none of my business?”
Anger swept through her, dampening some of the physical discomfort. “Really, sir, you would hardly expect me to discuss such intimate details of my life with a gentleman with whom I am barely acquainted.”
He looked down at her with a strange expression. “May I remind you that you are in the midst of making love to a gentleman with whom you are barely acquainted?”
“We are not making love,” she said gruffly, not wanting to admit to herself, just how much that fact hurt. “We are engaging in an act of illicit passion.”
“I see. You are an authority on such matters?”
“Illicit trysts are different. One is under no obligation to confide one’s personal affairs to one’s lover.”
“I cannot believe that I am receiving a lecture from you on the subject of how one conducts an illicit love affair.”
She winced. “I think it would be best if you, uh, removed yourself, sir. As you can tell we are not a good match.”
“How would you know?” he said, making no move to retreat.
“I would think it is obvious. You are much too big.”
“I think we are a perfect fit.”
He started to ease out of her. She held her breath.
But he stopped just short of her entrance and pushed slowly, steadily back into her.
She gasped. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Allow me to inform you, Mrs. Bryce, that you are no expert.”
He kissed her deeply, silencing her before she could argue further.
He repeated the movement, withdrawing almost entirely and then stroking deeply back into her. The sensation was not painful this time, but neither was it pleasurable. She was stretched so tight she could scarcely breathe. Still, it wasn’t a bad feeling.
Perhaps predictably, her lamentable curiosity unfurled, suppressing disappointment.
“Very well, if you insist,” she said, wriggling a little in an effort to get more comfortable. “But please be quick about it.”
Anthony stilled again, buried inside her.
She opened her eyes and saw that he was looking down at her with an unreadable expression. Chagrined, she put her hands on each side of his face.
“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she said anxiously. “Feel free to carry on. I won’t say another word.”
“Do I have your promise on that?”
“Absolutely, sir. As long as we have gone this far, we may as well finish the business.”
“Have a care, my sweet. Such romantic talk will make me swoon.”
She was mortified. She was also furious. The mixture proved highly combustible. She caught his shoulders and pulled him closer.
“Damnation, Anthony. Get on with it.”
He said something under his breath that she could not make out, but he finally began to move in quick, tight strokes. Her body seemed to have adjusted itself to his now. If the sensations she was experiencing were not the thrilling ones she had anticipated, neither were they altogether unpleasant.
If Anthony found pleasure in this, she could tolerate the exercise.
“Damn it to hell.” He sounded as though he was having difficulty breathing. “This is your fault. You have played havoc with my self-control tonight.”
“What is my fault? What do you intend to blame on me? How dare you—”
“You promised not to talk,” he said, teeth clenched. “Damn.”
Worried by the low, savage groan that underlay the oath, she opened her eyes. “Are you all right?”
He did not respond. Instead he suddenly jerked free of her body and grabbed the handkerchief. He wrapped it around the head of his erection.
In the dim light she could see that his eyes were squeezed shut. His lips were parted and drawn back in a silent groan. His teeth flashed dangerously in the darkness. And then it was over. He propped himself against the workbench, breathing heavily. He did not open his eyes.
“Damn,” he said again, very softly this time.
21
She waited, uncertain of what one did in a situation like this. The authors of sensation novels did not cover this sort of thing in the books that she had read.
Worried, she gently touched his arm.
“Anthony?”
He opened his eyes partway.
She shivered uneasily when she saw the way he was looking at her.
“Are you ill?” she asked.
“An interesting question.”
He straightened and turned away from her, swiftly adjusting his trousers. She hopped down off the workbench. That proved to be a mistake. Her thighs were so wobbly she had to grab hold of the bench to steady herself. She arranged her skirts with awkward hands, aware of a distinctly uncomfortable sensation between her legs.
“My apologies, sir,” she said brusquely.
He turned around again, alarmingly cool and back in control. “For allowing me to believe that you were a woman of the world?”
“No, for encouraging you a few minutes ago. Although, in my own defense, I must admit that I expected a somewhat different result.”
“What, exactly, did you expect, Louisa?”
She waved a hand, glad that the shadows hid her blush. “I’m sure you understand. One hears so much about the thrill of illicit passion, doesn’t one?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“You probably don’t read a lot of novels.”
“No.”
“But you must have seen your sister’s marvelous plays.”
“In her plays illicit love affairs always come to a bad end.”
“That’s not the point.” She groped for the right words. “The thing is, based on what I have read and seen on the stage, I anticipated a more, shall we say, transcendent experience.”
“Transcendent,” he repeated neutrally.
“That is the way forbidden passion is portrayed, you see.” She sighed. “I should have realized that there is a reason why every woman in England is not running around indulging in illicit love affairs.”
“It was your first time, Louisa. First times are always awkward.”
A thought struck her. “Hmm.”
He caught her chin on the edge of his hand and raised her face so that she had to meet his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she said hastily.
“Given what I have just gone through, I think I deserve an answer.”
“Very well, if you insist. It occurred to me that the problem here may have been you, not me.”
“You’re blaming your failure to achieve transcendence on me?”
“No, no, of course not. Not entirely.” She cleared her throat. “It is certainly not your fault that nature chose to overly endow certain portions of your anatomy.” She paused, considering the subject more closely. “Perhaps a smaller man—”
He leaned very close.
“Do not,” he said, his voice ominously soft, “even think about it.”
She stepped back quickly and came up hard against the workbench. “Calm yourself, sir. You are a trifle agitated at the moment. We both are. It has been a very difficult day.”
He closed the space between them and planted his hands on the table behind her, caging her between his arms.
“Let me make something very plain,” he said in that same dangerously soft tone. “This is your fault, not mine. You misled me with your guise as a widow. You played the part far too well. You should have told me the truth.”
“Rubbish. If I’d done that, you never would have kissed me in the first place, let alone ravished me.”
“You wanted to be ravished?”
“Yes, I did.” Anger and frustration leaped within her again. “I was in a mood to be ravished tonight.”
His eyes narrowed. “Was this some whimsical decision you made on the spur of the moment this evening?”
“Not at all.” She raised her chin. “As it happens, I have been thinking about that sort of thing a lot of late.”
“What a coincidence,” he said. “So have I.”
She ignored that. “Until tonight I have been in complete control of my emotions, of course.”