The Stranger I Married
Page 25

“What Grayson feels is not ‘smitten,’ love,” he said dryly.
Abby waved a careless hand. “Whatever name you give to it, he grants no significance to anything in her past. My future spouse will feel the same about me.”
“You sound so certain.”
“I am. You see, he would have to love me desperately to win my hand, and a little matter of a torn piece of flesh would not matter to him. In fact, I intend to tell any future spouse of mine all about you, and—”
“Good God!”
“Well, not literally,” she hastened to say. Her gaze turned dreamy, her smile fond. “I would simply tell him of the man who made my stomach flutter and my heart race when he smiled. How wonderful that man was to me, what happiness he brought me after the death of my parents left my life a misery. And he will understand, Lord Trenton, because when you love someone that is what you do. You understand.”
“What a dreamer you are,” he scoffed in an attempt to hide how deeply her words touched him.
“Am I?” Frowning, she pulled away. “I suppose you are correct. My mother warned me once that affairs are practical endeavors, not the stuff of romance.”
Rhys arched a brow, then linked their fingers and pulled her toward a nearby bench. “Your mother said that?”
“She said it was foolish of women to think that affairs were grand passions and marriages a duty. She said it should be the opposite. Affairs should be nothing more than a satiation of needs. Marriages should be lifelong commitments to deep-seated desires. My mother was a forward-thinking woman. After all, she did marry an American.”
“Ah yes, that’s true.” Sitting, he pulled Abby into his lap. She weighed nearly nothing and he tucked her close, resting his chin on her head. “So she is the one responsible for filling your head with all that love nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense,” she chided. “My parents were mad for each other and very, very happy. The smiles on their faces when they were together again after an absence…The glow they had when they shared a smile over the dining table…Wonderful.”
Licking the exposed column of her throat, he reached her ear and whispered. “I can show you wonderful, Abby.”
“Oh my.” She shivered. “I swear my stomach just turned a flip.”
He loved how he affected her, how open and innocent she was in her responses. She was so pure of character. Not because she was naïve—she saw the workings of the world clearly—but because the less admirable facets of mankind did not disillusion her. Yes, she had been hunted by disreputable gentlemen, but she saw that for what it was—the stupidity and greed of a few men. The rest of the world was given the benefit of her doubt.
It was that quality of hopefulness which he found so irresistible. He would most likely be damned to perdition for taking her, but he could do nothing else. The thought of never having her, never experiencing her joy in passion was unbearable.
“What wing of the manse are you in?” he murmured, wanting to lie with her now.
“Let me come to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are the more experienced and jaded of the two of us.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Would the woman ever cease confounding his wits?
“You have this scent about you, my lord. Your cologne and soap and starch. It is quite delicious and when your skin heats up, the smell sometimes makes me feel as if I could swoon. I can only imagine how much more pronounced the effect will be after the physical exertions of lovemaking. I doubt I would be able to sleep a wink with that scent all over my bed linens. For you, however, the odor of sex would be nothing of note. Therefore, I should smell up your sheets, rather than you smell up mine.”
“I see.” Before he knew what he was doing, he had her bent over the cool stone bench and he was kneeling over her, taking her mouth with a need he had not felt since…since…blasted! Who in hell cared when it had been. It was damn well happening now.
His hands cupped the slight curves of her breasts and squeezed, eliciting a moan from her that swelled upward and filled the area of the garden they occupied. Discovery was a very real hazard and yet he could not find the will to cease. He was drunk on her scent, her response, the way she arched upward into his embrace and then shrank back, frightened.
“My very skin aches,” she whispered, writhing.
“Hush, love,” he soothed, his lips moving against hers.
“I—I feel so hot.”
“Shhh, I will ease you.” He stroked down the length of her side trying to gentle what was quickly becoming a wild passion.
Her hands slipped between his coat and waistcoat, clawing at his back. The scratching made his cock throb and he paid her in kind by scraping the tips of his short nails across her hardened nipples. With one hand gloved and the other not, he knew the dual sensations would madden her.
“Christ almighty,” she gasped. Then she grabbed his ass and yanked their hips together.
His breath hissed between his teeth. She cried out.
“Abby. We must find a room.”
She turned her face into his throat, her lips moving feverishly across the sweat-dampened skin. “Take me here.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, certain he was only minutes away from doing just that. If anyone were to stumble upon them now, there would be no way to explain. He was crouched over her like an obvious lecher. She was the innocent, who hadn’t the wherewithal to deny a seasoned rake’s advances.
How had they ended up like this? A stolen moment or two of her company, and he was about to break his one cardinal rule: no deflowering virgins. What fun was there in that? No quick rut, this. There would be blood, tears. He would have to seduce her properly, take his time, delay his own gratification…
“My lord, please!”
Hell and damnation. It sounded like heaven.
“Abigail.” He meant to hurry her off so they could meet naked—er, properly. But he was having the hardest time removing his fingers from around her nipples. Yes, her breasts were small, but her nipples were not. He couldn’t wait to—
Her lovely gown tore as he yanked the shoulder down and bared her breast. She cried out again as he lowered his mouth and suckled her. Such long, delicious nipples. They rolled over his tongue like berries and were just as sweet.
“Please, oh please, my lord.” She arched upward into his mouth and he almost came, that silken undulation an unbearable tease to his near-to-bursting cock.
It was only the sound of approaching laughter that saved her from ruination on a garden bench.
“Bloody hell.” He moved swiftly, pulling her up and straightening her bodice. The nipple he had been sucking poked wantonly through the silk and he rubbed his thumb over it, unable to help himself.
“Don’t stop!” she protested loudly, forcing him to cover her mouth with his hand.
“Someone is coming, love.” He waited until she nodded her understanding. “Do you know where my room is?” She nodded again. “I will be there shortly. Don’t dally. I will hunt you down if you do.”
Her eyes widened. Then she nodded emphatically.
“Go.”
Rhys watched her take a side path toward the manse and disappear from sight. Then he ducked behind a nearby vine-covered arbor and waited. It wouldn’t do for both of them to return to the house too closely to each other. Even if neither or only one were seen, it was best to be overly cautious.
“But to petition Parliament, Celeste?” came Lady Hammond’s voice from a nearby intersecting lane. “Think of the scandal!”
“I have thought of nothing but that for nearly five years,” retorted the dowager Lady Grayson. “I have never been so mortified as I was when they did not attend dinner this evening. Which was an excellent repast, I must say.”
“Thank you.” There was a long pause, then, “Grayson seems quite taken with his wife.”
“In only the most superficial sense, Iphiginia. Besides, she has no wish to be married. Not only has she proven that over the last four years, she has also said as much to me.”
“She did not!”
Blinking, Rhys thought exactly the same thing. Isabel would never say such a thing to Grayson’s mother.
“She did,” the dowager replied. “She and I have agreed to assist each other.”
“You jest!”
Good God! Rhys growled low in his throat. Bella would not be pleased when he saw her again. Damned if he wouldn’t be pulling her out of another scrape.
Waiting until the women moved further along, he then left his hiding spot and moved surreptitiously through the garden toward the manse, where sinful pleasures awaited him.
Abby paused a moment at Trenton’s doorway, wondering if one was supposed to knock before an assignation, or if she now had the right to just walk in unannounced. She was still debating this when the door flew open and she was yanked inside.
“What the devil took you so long?” Trenton complained, turning the lock and scowling down at her adorably.
Her stomach performed its little somersault again.
He was dressed in a burgundy silk robe, which revealed dark curling hair on his chest and hair-dusted calves that betrayed his nakedness beneath. With his arms akimbo, he was missing only the tapping foot to be a perfect picture of impatience.
Over her.
Her stomach flipped again.
How beautiful he was. What perfection! She sighed audibly. He was, of course, a bit hyperopic to miss her lack of physical charms, but she would not complain about that.
He reached for her and she sidestepped quickly. “Wait!”
“For what?” His scowl deepened.
“I—I have something to show you.”
“If it’s not you naked and writhing,” he grumbled, “I am not interested.”
She laughed.
She had watched him during dinner, noting his ready charm and droll discourse. The females seated on either side of him had been captivated, but she had felt his regard return to her often.
“Grant me a moment.” She arched a brow when he opened his mouth to protest. “This is my deflowering. Once we reach the bed, I will cede command of this affair to you. Until then, however, I would like the preliminaries to be under my control.”
Trenton’s lips twitched and his eyes sparkled with a heat that made her shiver with anticipation. If his behavior in the garden was any indication, he was going to devour her. “As you wish, love.”
Moving behind the privacy screen, she began to undress. This was not at all how she had imagined losing her virginity. There was no tender, patient husband waiting to treat her like fine porcelain. There was no ring on her finger or name attached to hers.
“What the devil are you doing?” he muttered, as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world and worthy of such avid interest.
He did have a way of looking at her that made her feel beautiful.
“I am almost done.” She had dressed in the gown that was the simplest to remove without assistance, but it was still a chore. Finally, though, she was free and prepared. Taking a deep breath, Abby stepped out from behind the screen.
“About bloody…” His words faded into silence as he ceased pacing and turned to face her.
She shifted nervously under the sudden overwhelming heat of his gaze. “Hello.”
“Abby.” Just one word, but it was filled with awe and pleasure. “My God.”
The fingers of her right hand fluttered nervously along the low neckline of her red gown. “My mother was blessed with a larger bosom, so I am afraid I cannot do the garment justice.”
Trenton approached with his innate elegant grace, his cheekbones flushed, his lips slightly parted on rapid breaths. “If you did any more justice to that garment, I would be on my knees.”
Blushing, she looked away, relishing the flutters she felt as he drew closer and then touched her gently. “Thank you.”
“No, love,” he murmured, his voice husky and deep, rippling down her spine. “I thank you. I cherish the gift you are giving to me.”
With a finger beneath her chin, he angled her mouth and fitted his lips to hers. The kiss started softly, but quickly built until his mouth was slanting feverishly over hers, stealing her breath, making her dizzy. She quivered against him and was caught close to his hard body, lifted, and laid upon the bed.
Then he was everywhere. Stroking, kneading. His fingers tugging, pinching. His mouth wet and suckling. Nipping teeth. Hoarsely voiced words of encouragement and praise.
“Trenton!” she begged, certain she would die as her body shuddered with longing he seemed determine to stoke, but not appease. For all his impatience earlier, he was not rushed now.
“Rhys,” he corrected.
“Rhys…”
Unsure of what to do, what to say, she could only touch his shoulders, his beautiful hair, the straining and sweat-dampened length of his muscular back. What a work of art he was, his body able to arouse her just by sight. All men were not as blessed as he was and she knew she was beyond fortunate to share her bed with such an incomparable masculine creature.
“Tell me how to please you.”
“If you pleased me any more, love, we would both regret it.”
“How is that possible?”
“Trust me,” he murmured before taking her mouth and sliding his hand up from the back of her knee to her hip. Before she could protest his fingers were parting the lips of her sex.
He groaned as his touch slipped through the slickness that gathered there. “You’re dripping.”
“I—I’m sorry.” She felt herself blush to the roots of her hair.
“Dear God, do not be sorry.” Rhys came over her, nudging her thighs wider. “It’s perfect. You are perfect.”
She wasn’t. Not nearly. But the reverent way he touched her told her that for the moment at least, he truly thought she was.