There was the sound of her pounding heart, roaring in her own ears as she let herself feel, really feel, his touch. Her skin tingled in the wake of his caress.
His touch was gentle as he reached for the curve of her waist, above the flare of her hips and below the swells of her breasts. His touch explored all those curves, slowly, gently, achingly, deliberately.
As if he wanted to know her. Or memorize her for later.
One night. Just this one night.
She stood still, breathing deeply, savoring the trail of heat in her skin, left in the wake of his fingertips. Meredith willed herself to remember this sensation, this man, this night.
One night. Just this one night.
Their mouths met for another kiss. Open lips, tasting each other.
Growing bold, she reached for him. Skimming hands over his chest, feeling the linen of his shirt bunch up beneath her hands. Wordlessly, he lifted it off and cast it aside. For a second, he seemed shy. Or perhaps it was just something in the way his hair fell forward into his eyes.
Now she pressed her bare palms against his warm skin, feeling the ridges and planes of his muscles and the smattering of hair across his chest. She imagined she felt his heart pounding hard beneath her palms.
She imagined it beat for her.
But she wouldn’t allow herself to imagine that it meant anything, that this could be anything more than one night of passion.
He pulled her close, and his mouth found hers for another kiss, one that blurred the lines between where he ended and she began. He was hungry for her.
She wanted him, too, with an intensity that did not surprise her. She so often felt shut away, alone, unseen and untouched. Which is why she was here, taking this chance, and giving herself up to this mad passion. And mad was not a word she used lightly.
James cupped her breasts, teasing the pad of his thumb across her nipples. A sigh escaped her.
He pressed kisses along her neck. And when his hot mouth closed around the dark centers of her breasts, she moaned with the pleasure of it, especially when his tongue went to work teasing her.
This pleasure he stoked in her made her bold. Meredith reached for the waistband of his breeches, stroking her fingers along the edge where fabric met his skin. Dipping her finger beneath, wanting but unsure.
She felt his lips curve into a smile even as he kissed her.
Then he removed his breeches.
The next thing she knew, they were entwined on the bed, fevered skin against fevered skin. Only for a moment—certainly not forever—it felt like heaven.
Chapter 1
All of London is breathlessly awaiting the arrival of the new American Duke of Durham. He is expected in town any day now, though Her Grace, the Duchess of Durham, has been remarkably tight-lipped about him.
—Fashionable Intelligence, The London Weekly
London, 1824
A few days later
As their carriage rolled closer and closer to London, James thought about her. Just a girl, she had said, before she kissed him deeply, opened herself up to him, invited him in, wrapped him around her fingers, teased him to unknown heights of pleasure, made him forget, made him feel alive, made him fall half in love with her.
Just a girl. Ha.
He didn’t even know her name.
He thought of her when Amelia insisted on not only stopping at the ruins of an old castle she’d read about in her guidebook, but also finding a knowledgeable local person to provide a tour, which may or may not have been accurate, but certainly made for a lengthy afternoon activity that delayed their trip.
James didn’t mind. He was in no rush to get to London.
He thought of her when Bridget and Claire insisted on traveling to one more town over so that they might stay at a nicer inn. Would she be there? Or was she at the one they’d left? Where was she going anyway? So many questions he hadn’t asked, because he’d kissed her instead, assuming that she would be there still in the morning.
He thought of her while his sisters alternately chattered amiably and then bickered (over what, he could not discern). Claire provided a lengthy and tedious explanation of Euler’s equation, then they all sang songs for hours and hours on end. Lord help a man trapped in a carriage for days and days with three sisters.
And now they were closer, closer, closer with every turn of the wheel.
Closer to London.
Closer to Durham House.
Closer to a future his father had abandoned and a future James wasn’t sure he wanted.
James was a simple man, a country boy, accustomed to wide open spaces and expansive blue skies.
The buildings rose up tall, reaching into a sky gray with smoke and smog, and towering over everything.
He enjoyed the solitude and spaciousness of their farm in Maryland, with endless green pastures and cool, quiet forests.
In London, the narrow roads were thick with people, some dressed meanly and some dressed in a finery rarely seen back home. The lot of them combined to make a thick, pulsing mob.