One Wicked Wish Page 17
If only time would stop.
No, she wouldn’t think about that.
“Spread your legs for me.” His gruff command betrayed his growing excitement.
Stella shifted to accommodate him. He kissed the small of her back. Who knew that was such a sensitive spot? But she’d come to realize that when desire was this powerful, everything Gray did was likely to set her off.
His hand traced her cleft until she shuddered in reaction. He caught her hips again and held her still while he pressed forward.
Her body had adjusted to accept his size, although she still thrilled at the snug fit. But this change in position tested her anew.
She released a low moan and edged back to take more. With a grunt of approval, he advanced to the end of his thrust. With a cry, she gripped him hard.
Every time she thought she’d scaled the last peak of pleasure, Gray showed her that whole mountain ranges extended ahead. This position, which had an inevitable touch of a stallion mounting a mare, reached parts of her she hadn’t even known were there.
“Are you all right?” His words emerged in jerky starts.
Her deep breath changed the pressure inside her. “I like this.”
His laugh sounded hard-won, and the vibrations heightened her arousal. “I thought you might.” He curved over her to fondle her breasts. “You might want to hold onto the baseboard.”
She obeyed and angled her bottom higher. This time, the movement made her see stars. Then the stars burst into a conflagration, as he withdrew then plunged again with none of his initial gentleness. Each time his full length rammed inside her, he reached a secret place that sent volcanic sensation flooding through her. Within a miraculously short time, she was shaking and panting.
Gray continued until another, even more astonishing climax overcame her. She felt battered with pleasure. Lightning struck her from every direction. Her breath emerged in broken sobs, as her hands clung to the baseboard.
By the time he pulled free to lose himself in the sheets, every muscle was quivering. Her thighs gave up supporting her, and she collapsed face down on the bed.
“I think I died that time,” she said, her voice hoarse. She rolled over and draped a boneless arm over his chest.
“I said you’d like it,” he said, sounding as exhausted as she did.
As her heartbeat slowed, Gray straightened the tangle of hair that spread around her. Through all their wild encounters, he’d kept his word and pulled free before his orgasm. Some nitwit part of Stella regretted that. It seemed such a lonely way for him to finish, when the rest of the journey was a union of equals.
But even at the height of her pleasure, she kept a faltering grip on prudence. A baby would be a disaster, even if in the few hours’ sleep she managed to snatch back in her own bed, she dreamed of children with Gray’s green eyes and flashing smile.
Each time, she woke with tears on her face and an aching emptiness inside her.
Gray shifted closer and hauled her into his arms. She inhaled his scent, hoping to imprint it on her memory forever.
Stella pressed her back against his chest and rested her head on his upper arm. They lay together in sweet intimacy. Stella might even have dozed for a few seconds. It had been a long night, and she hadn’t slept much these last four nights. She didn’t want to lose even a minute of their time together.
She stirred to the brush of his lips on her neck and the sound of a blackbird trilling outside. Time hadn’t stopped. It was almost morning.
“I hate that bird,” she said in a drowsy murmur, shifting her head to give him access to her throat.
“So do I.” He rose over her and kissed her lips with a languorous pleasure that acknowledged the joy they’d shared.
When Gray raised his head, Stella’s arms curled around his waist. He settled between her legs and her knees rose on either side of him. “Do you want me to go outside and throw a rock at it?”
“No.” She stroked his back. “I want you to stay right where you are.”
He rubbed against her. Her eyes widened, as she stared into that remarkable face. “You can’t possibly.”
Self-mockery curved his lips, and his eyes glinted down at her with deepening interest. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
He cut off her laugh with another kiss before he slid forward to fill her again. Her fingers ran up and down his back, feeling the rhythmic bunch and release of his muscles. A rhythm that echoed the glide of his body in hers.
This time, his possession was gentle, although she was soon shaking and gasping through an extended climax that dissolved every bone in her body into syrup.
“Let me finish you,” she choked out, when his muscles hardened under her palms.
Gray groaned his cooperation and turned onto his back. She straddled his narrow hips and took his penis in her hands. After their nights together, she knew just how to please him.
He was so close that he soon spilled into her fist. She loved the way he gave himself up to her. Still holding him, she dipped to kiss the head of his rod. He made a weary sound deep in his throat and ruffled her hair. She sighed, and for a moment rested her cheek on his hard thigh, before she rose and went through to the dressing room to wash.
When she emerged, she wore the crumpled silk nightdress. She’d managed to launder it in secret. Although how she’d managed to keep it away from Imogen’s curious eyes, she had no idea.
Gray propped himself against the pillows. The sheet covered him to the waist, revealing that sculpted chest with its light dusting of black hair.
He was such a beautiful man. Stella was always aware of how handsome he was. But sometimes, like now, his male attractions stabbed her like a knife.
Her gaze fixed on the raised welt where the bullet had struck him. Every time she saw the scar, her heart lurched. If his hysterical mistress had been a better shot, Stella would never have had these precious days with him. The idea of all his beauty and vitality consigned to the grave made her nauseous.
His eyes were somber. “You’re going?”
Stella curled her hand around the bedpost to stop herself from reaching for him again. “I must.”
The blackbird had woken up his avian friends. With every minute, the chirping rose. It was still dark, but the sun would soon be up. Over these last days, Stella felt as if her life only started once darkness fell. Everything in between just filled up the hours until she could be with Gray again.
“Let me come with you.”
She shook her head. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I haven’t.”
She waved toward the ruin of the bed. “Stay and catch a little sleep.”
“I don’t want to let you go, even for the few minutes it takes you to go back to your room.”
Her heart, already so heavy with the weight of joy and sorrow, squeezed tight. Since their first day in the country, he hadn’t mentioned setting her up as his mistress. Perhaps he’d lost interest in the idea. But every instinct, everything she knew of this man who had given her such joy, told her that he bided his time before he revisited the subject.
“Let me go, Gray.” The request covered more than an announcement of her departure.
His expression told her that he didn’t mean to accept anything but complete surrender. Stella turned away, too overwrought right now to start an argument. With unsteady hands, she lit a candle and released the catch to the secret door.
She was in a hurry to get away. She had a horrible feeling that she might cry. Once she started crying, when would she stop?
Fumbling, she shut the door behind her and made her way along the corridor. Was Imogen the only houseguest to hear “rats” in the fabric of the house? Despite everything, Stella muffled a laugh. Imogen had been so horrified at the idea.
By the time she reached the door to her room, Stella had settled down. She had one more night with Gray. She shouldn’t bemoan the fact that she’d never lie in his arms again. Rather, she should rem
ember how glorious these last nights had been. The affair might be short, but while it lasted, it gave her indescribable pleasure.
That thought was meant to bolster her determination to go on without Gray. It didn’t. Her hands were clumsy as she opened the door and stepped into the darkened room.
There was a rustle from the shadowy bed and a soft voice broke the silence. “Stella?”
Chapter 16
“Oh, my dear Lord!”
The violent tremble of Stella’s hand put her candle out. She sagged back against the wall, as her heart crashed against her ribs. “Imogen, what in blazes are you doing here?”
One hand clutched her throat. Her bare throat. She’d given up wearing her threadbare peignoir, and she was clad only in the revealing nightdress. A nightdress that had cost ten times as much as the rest of her wardrobe combined. Never had she cursed so bitterly Imogen’s assumption that she was free to wander in and out of Stella’s room without permission.
“I couldn’t sleep so I came in to see if you were awake, but you weren’t here.” Imogen sounded drowsy.
The fire provided enough light to reveal shapes but not much else. Stella heard her cousin fiddle with the tinderbox on the nightstand.
“Please don’t light a candle,” she said, even as she knew that she fought a losing battle. Once Imogen caught sight of her in this extravagant negligee and with her hair cascading around her shoulders, she’d know that Stella had been up to no good.
Except Imogen was no fool and must have already guessed that if her chaperone wasn’t sleeping in her own bed, it was likely that she slept in someone else’s.
Not that she and Gray had so far managed to do much sleeping.
Imogen ignored her, and flickering light bloomed. She raised the chamberstick to reveal Stella poised in guilty silence against the paneling. Even in the frail light, Stella saw her cousin’s eyes round in amazement.
“Goodness me, Stella, where have you been?” Her gaze sharpened. As Stella had predicted, the active brain inside that pretty head kicked into motion. “And where on earth did you get that nightdress?”
“Imogen…” she began, as she frantically cast around for some innocent explanation for leaving her bedroom in the middle of the night that also covered why she was dressed like an expensive courtesan.
Imogen shifted to the edge of the bed and set her bare feet on the floor. “I didn’t hear the door and it squeaks, so I should have. What’s been going on? How did you get all the way over there without disturbing me?”
Her shiver had nothing to do with the cold. The passage had been chilly but here in her bedroom, a fire kept the air warm. “You were asleep.”
“I was dozing, then I heard a click and I looked up and saw you. You appeared out of nowhere like a ghost.”
Stella tried to make light of her cousin’s suspicions. “I’m no ghost.”
Imogen rose and approached, lifting the candle to reveal Stella in all her tousled, sexually satiated glory. Her eyes narrowed and when she spoke, her voice held a hard edge that told Stella it was too late to rely on self-serving lies. Not that she was coming up with even a shred of a reason for her appearance, other than the shameful truth.
The game was without doubt up.
“No. You’re not a ghost. You’re a woman returning at dawn from a lover’s bed.” Stella winced, but couldn’t summon a denial. Imogen frowned as she contemplated the various possibilities. “Who is it? I can’t see you with Ivor or any of his friends. Or Lord Lumsden, who is famously devoted to his wife. Not to mention that you wouldn’t risk hurting Lady Lumsden. I know you like her. Lord Tierney is too old for you. So is Mr. Bilson.” Her frown intensified. “That only leaves…”
Stella reached out but let her hand fall to her side before she touched her cousin. “Imogen, don’t.”
It was too late. Imogen’s breath emerged in an explosive huff. She backed away and sank into one of the brocade chairs in front of the fire. With an unsteady hand, she set the chamberstick on a side table. “It’s Lord Halston, isn’t it?”
Stella swallowed, too upset to speak. She’d been in a state when she tore herself away from Gray. This unexpected confrontation with Imogen so soon afterward left her staggering.
Imogen didn’t wait for confirmation. Why would she? Stella feared the truth was written all over her face. She’d never been a good liar. Anyway Imogen knew her too well.
“I should have realized when I saw you dancing together.” Displeasure darkened her expression. “Lord Halston has been pursuing you this whole time, hasn’t he? The lilies were for you. And the note.”
To her mortification, he hadn’t had to pursue her too hard. “Yes,” Stella said in a whisper, as her grip tightened on the chamberstick.
While she was in Gray’s arms, she felt brave and free. This harrowing scene reminded her that the rest of the world would deride her as a round-heeled slut. Just another of Gray’s many conquests. The thought made her feel sick, although she’d always recognized that reality.
“And the house party. He didn’t ask us down to Prestwick Place because he’s going to offer for me. Papa had it wrong. Halston asked us here, he asked everyone here, because it was the only way he could have you to himself. It’s not about me. It was never about me. It was always about you.”
Stella swallowed again and forced the words out of her aching throat. “I’m sorry.”
A barbed silence fell, while Imogen studied her as if she’d never seen her before. After a while, Stella went on, her voice thick with regret for the pain she must be causing Imogen. “I know you like him. I hate to think that we’ve hurt you.”
She made her way to the other chair and sank down, her gaze never leaving her cousin’s pale face. She lit her chamberstick from Imogen’s and placed it on the table, too.
Imogen shook her head, as if Stella had said something inane. “I’m not hurt.”
Stella waved that away. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending.” To her relief, Imogen gave her a small smile. “He’s too old for me and too sophisticated and far too experienced.”
Despite everything, Stella felt a tinge of amusement when she imagined Gray’s reaction to that description, in particular the “too old” bit. “But you were so excited when he invited us to the country.”
Imogen shrugged, looking less appalled by the minute, thank goodness. “Anyone would be excited. He’s a leader of society. I was flattered when he singled me out. Anyway, I wanted to see the gardens. You know that.”
“Oh, Imogen,” Stella said, shaking her head. “So you hadn’t set your heart on marrying Gray?”
Imogen hesitated before she answered, and Stella realized how the use of Gray’s Christian name betrayed her intimacy with him. “No. But it was fun to be the girl who people said had captured the elusive earl’s heart, and it stopped Papa pushing me at Lord Chippenham.”
“Now, he really is too old for you.”
Imogen gave a theatrical shudder. “He’s too everything for me.” Her eyes sharpened again. “So you’ve been a fallen woman since we came here four days ago? Or did it start in London?”
Little did her cousin know that she’d been a fallen woman for years. Stella’s gesture conveyed embarrassment. “I shouldn’t talk to you about this.”
Imogen looked and sounded more like her old self. “I think you have to.”
Stella sighed. “Or what? You’ll tell your father?”
Temper flashed in Imogen’s eyes. “No, of course I won’t tell Papa. You know how he’d react. He’d throw you out to fend for yourself, which means I’d lose a friend and cousin I love. Give me a little credit.”
“It might be better if you do tell him.” Stella grimaced. “I’m not fit to be your chaperone.”
Imogen’s snort conveyed her disgust at that statement. “You’re still you. You haven’t murdered anyone. You’ve fallen for a rake’s wiles. To be honest, I can see the attraction. If Halston made any serious att
empt to capture my interest, I couldn’t resist him either.”
Surprised, Stella regarded the cousin she’d always treated a little like an amusing child. Imogen’s reaction to her fall from grace displayed a maturity that caught her unawares.
Somewhere during this season, Imogen had grown up. No, the change was even more recent than that. Stella couldn’t see this girl playing the stupid trick with the note and the threatened elopement that had launched this whole series of events.
Imogen went on. “I suppose it all happened when I went to the wrong gazebo. Halston decided to chase you then. You were always so tight-lipped about what happened when you met him. I thought that was because you were angry with me.”
“I was,” Stella admitted. “But he said he’d noticed me before that.”
“How could he help it? You try so hard to fade into the background, but you’re not really a fading-into-the-background kind of woman. No wonder all those men who wanted to court you drove Papa to distraction.”
The shock that gripped Stella was strong enough to overtake even her constant interest in Gray. “What men?”
Imogen looked surprised. “You know. Of course you know. There were at least half a dozen gentlemen who applied to Papa for permission to pay their addresses. You remember how Mr. Lamb hung around last year. And there was Mr. Cramer and Sir Anthony Padstow. I forget the others.”
Outrage gathered inside Stella. “I had no idea.”
“Papa told me that you’d said you had no wish to marry and that you asked him to send them away.”
Stella made an impatient sound in her throat. “Does that sound like anything that I’d say to your father? Half the time, he can’t summon the courtesy to call me by name, let alone take my instructions about dismissing a suitor.”
Not just a suitor. Suitors.
It seemed that she’d had a chance to make a life and a home for herself, and her uncle had schemed to keep her as an unpaid dogsbody instead. Lady Lumsden’s umbrage on her behalf came back to her.