"You have no reason to be jealous. When I first came here, I wondered that as handsome as Michael is, he didn't make me breathless. That was only you. Even when I wanted to loathe you for being high-handed and presumptuous, you still made my stomach flutter and my blood heat."
He kissed her cheek, then her neck. “You thought Michael was pretty, and I gave you indigestion. I shall endeavor to remember that when my ego is flagging."
He didn't want to think about Elise anymore, or Melisande, or the fiend who was dogging their every step. He wanted to lose himself in her, to let the fire that raged in his blood consume them both.
She smiled, self-deprecating and lovely. “I had no idea then what desire was. But I understand it now, and can recognize that it is what I felt for you from the beginning."
He rolled to his back and pulled her with him. He parted her thighs so that she straddled his hips. He could feel the heat of her through his clothes.
"Walking you to your room that night, maintaining even a semblance of propriety was next to impossible. I don't know if you realized it at the time, but standing as you were in front of those windows, with the moonlight streaming in, your night rail was rendered almost completely transparent."
"You're wicked!"
"If I were wicked,” he said, “I would have had my way with you that night. Lord knows I wanted to. You smelled of lilies and that glorious hair of yours... Do you know what I did that night?” he asked her, rising on his elbows, to kiss the slender column of her throat and the delicate arc of her collarbone.
He felt the shiver that rippled through her and smiled against her skin.
She shook her head. “Hired a Bow Street Runner to dog my every step?"
"No,” he said, his teeth scraping lightly against her tender flesh, “I asked Michael to dog your every step. After speaking to him, I came back to this room and I laid here, wide awake, picturing you. Have you ever pleasured yourself, Emme? Ever touched yourself where you've been told you ought not?"
She was blushing. He was such a wicked man. “No, I have not."
He continued the torment with his skilled mouth. He explored her silken flesh, finding the spots that made her shiver, and the ones that made her moan. “That is a shame. I would like to see that. I cannot imagine anything more erotic than watching you touch yourself... Watching you bring yourself to release... That is what I did when I came back to this room that night. I lay here in this bed, tormented by the scent of you, by the images of your glorious body in that diaphanous gown."
She didn't know what to say. Her entire body was suffused with heat, partially from embarrassment and partially from a keen desire. His words and the searing heat of his lips on her flesh were more than she could bear. Her back arched, her head falling back, as she gave herself up to his questing touch.
He trailed his hand over her stomach, “I am thinking now of what you will look like when my child is growing large in your belly. You will look ripe and lovely, a vision of feminine glory. Your breasts will grow larger and more sensitive, and when your belly is too large, we will have to find very creative ways to make love, but find them we will, because I cannot imagine not making love to you. Every time I look at you, I want you more."
She shivered, trembling at his touch. But she raised her head and met his gaze. Her face was flushed with the heat of passion; her softly parted lips were plump and swollen from his kisses. She was the most tempting thing he'd ever seen.
When she spoke, her voice was soft and husky—carnal. “Then take me,” she said.
He flipped her onto her back and grasped the neckline of her chemise. Rather than strip it from her, he rent the fabric, baring her to his voracious gaze. He opened his breeches, buttons skittering in his haste. She reached down and took his shaft in hand, her slim fingers gliding over the velvet-covered steel of his manhood. He gritted his teeth, his breath hissing out between them. He gripped her wrist, tugging her hand away, and drove into her, again and again. She gasped and moaned beneath him, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. Her body contracted, clenching him tightly, pulsing around him as she took her pleasure. In that moment, he was lost.
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Chapter Fourteen
Alistair arrived shortly before dinner, his timing inconvenient for everyone else. His lack of consideration surprised no one, but his presence did appear to lighten Eleanor's mood considerably so Rhys was happy enough to tolerate him. They dined somewhat informally that evening, as Lord Ellersleigh and Lord Pommeroy were their only guests and both were such frequent visitors as to be considered practically members of the family. It didn't escape him that both were suspects, that either of them could have been responsible for the deaths of both Melisande and Elise.