Chapter 15
Ian watched the emotions that flitted over Mercy’s delicate features. Outrage, uncertainty, and at last . . . a startled acceptance.
She might not have considered her reasons for pursuing him through the dark. Certainly it had not been a logical decision to seek him out and seduce him.
He possessed high hopes, however, that a secret part of her was anxious to finish what they had started in the attics earlier in the day.
Mercy darted out her tongue to wet her lips, sending a shock of hunger through Ian.
He had sought out the gazebo to be alone with his thoughts. Even three hours after his father’s unexpected proposition, he was grappling with the discomforting sensations that continued to plague him. Now any desire to be alone with his broodings was seared away by the soft scent of vanilla and satin skin beneath his searching finger.
“I—” She sucked in a shocked gasp as his finger dipped beneath the edge of her bodice. “I was not attempting to punish you.”
“No?” He growled deep in his throat as his finger slid over the slope of her breast. That powerful ache in his loins was once again stirred to life, his erection pressing painfully against the flap of his breeches. “Then God forbid you ever do. I have suffered quite enough, I assure you.”
Her lips parted in a soft sigh as his finger slipped beneath her corset to discover the hardened pebble of her nipple.
“Oh.”
He wrapped a rough arm around her waist, hauling her close to his trembling body. Whatever his reasons for coming to the gazebo, he had only one thought upon his mind in this moment.
A most welcome distraction, he acknowledged, his head lowering to brush his lips over her temple.
“What of you, Mercy?” he breathed against the pulse that muttered wildly beneath her skin. “Have you suffered? Do you ache for my touch?”
Her lashes drifted downward as she clutched at his shoulders. “Ian.”
“Tell me.” He blazed a path of kisses over her cheek, pausing to nibble at the edge of her mouth. “Say the words.”
She moaned softly. “What words?”
“That you want me.”
“I . . .” With an obvious effort, she tilted back her head to regard him with a bemused gaze.
“The truth, my sweet,” he commanded softly.
She shivered against his tense muscles, her eyes dark with a stark need that slammed into him with brutal force.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I want you.”
A consuming fire spread through his blood. Christ, but she was a natural temptress. A woman seemingly born to lure him to madness.
“Thank God,” he muttered.
“Of course, I am not at all certain it is wise.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I stopped being wise the moment I discovered a wood sprite luring me into a daisy-filled meadow.”
A small, tantalizing smile curved her lips, her body deliberately arching to press her soft breasts against the hard planes of his chest.
“You must be easily lured, Mr. Breckford. I was doing nothing more than sitting on a rock.”
He grunted, feeling as if he had just been kicked in the stomach. The devil take it, how had he come to such a pitiful state?
The woman had only to be near to cloud his mind and clench his body with a need that was positively indecent.
“Mercy, you are a very dangerous young woman.”
She blinked, utterly unaware of the power she possessed over him. “Whatever do you mean?”
His sigh rasped through the night air. “I believe it would be easier to demonstrate, my sweet.”
Not taking his gaze from her delicate features, Ian swept an arm beneath her knees, his other arm holding her back steady as he turned to enter the gazebo, kicking the door shut behind them.
At once the heated perfume of her skin reached out to wrap about him, and he choked back a groan. The maddening, wonderful minx had truly stolen his wits.
“Oh, how beautiful,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over the candlelit interior of the gazebo with its scenic wall panels and exquisite Italian furnishings.
“Oh, yes, astonishingly beautiful.” His tone made it clear he was not discussing the gazebo as he gently laid her upon the wide, cushioned bench. Reaching out, he brushed her cheek with light fingers. “You are a masterpiece of nature.”
Her lips parted as she sucked in a sharp breath. “Ian.”
Of its own accord, his hand lowered, drifting down the front of her bodice as he swiftly tugged loose the ribbons that held it in place.
“You are wearing too many clothes, my sweet.”
He felt her tremble as she peered at him from beneath her tangle of lashes.
“Am I?”
His heart slammed against his chest as he tugged down the aggravating gown to reveal her slender body outlined by her tight corset and shift. She was sweet ivory skin drenched in vanilla. And he if he was not in her soon, he might very well explode.
“Mercy, if you knew what you do to me.”
Without warning, she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. “And what do you think you do to me? I never knew... I never understood the power of desire.”
A tangible, branding awareness seared the air between them as their gazes locked and held. Her eyes were wide, darkened with need, and despite her innocence there was no fear to be found in the shimmering depths.
He was drowning.
And he did not give a damn.
“Neither did I,” he muttered, lowering his head to sweep a soft kiss over her lips. “I thought I knew everything there was to know of women, but you have taught me that I was a fool.”
His kiss deepened, urging her lips open to accept the thrust of his tongue.
For a heartbeat, Mercy was bewildered by his surge of raw hunger, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck. Ian groaned, but before he could leash the savage need pounding through his body, she was tangling her tongue with his, meeting his every thrust with a ready enthusiasm.
Ian fell to his knees beside the bench, worshipping at the altar of the exquisite woman.
This was what men searched for their entire lives. It was what toppled kings, destroyed empires, and made reasonable men commit murder.
And if he had the least amount of wits, he would be fleeing as if the imps of hell were nipping at his heels.
Instead he impatiently tugged at the knots of her corset, vaguely realizing his hands were trembling as he pulled aside the stiff garment and peeled the thin shift from her slender body. Leaning back, he gazed down at her ivory perfection, his breath wrenched from his lungs in awestruck wonder.
Flushing beneath his heated gaze, Mercy shifted uneasily on the cushion. “Is something wrong, Ian?”
“God, no.” He reverently cupped the soft mounds of her breasts. “You are perfect.”
Too perfect, he inwardly groaned, lowering his head to capture a rosy nipple in his mouth.
She gave a keening cry as his tongue circled the hardened peak. The sound echoed deep within Ian, stirring a primitive, possessive part of him that he had never even realized existed.
This woman was his. The knowledge was as clear and unmistakable as the swift pounding of his heart.
His brief moment of stunning clarity was forgotten as his erection pressed against the button of his breeches. Later he could consider the strange sense of utter rightness that filled his heart. For now he simply desired to savor each touch, each caress.
Teasing the sensitive bud, Ian slid his hands beneath her back, arching her upward to meet his seeking lips.
Mercy moaned, her fingers plunging into his hair with a restless urgency, guiding his lips to her other breast. Turning his head, he suckled her with a dizzying pleasure.
He felt parched. As if it had been years, not a handful of days since he had held a woman in his arms.
Or perhaps it was simply the realization that he had not held the right woman in his arms.
With a swift motion he was off his knees and lying beside her on the narrow bench. Gathering her into his arms, he scattered heated kisses across her countenance.
“Is this what you truly want, Mercy?” he breathed. “There is no going back from this moment.”
Her hands skimmed downward, awkwardly tugging free his cravat before working on the buttons of his waistcoat.
“This is what I want,” she said with absolute certainty. “You are what I want.”
Ian possessed a brief flare of guilt at the realization that this woman was offering a gift that should be treasured by a man far more worthy than himself, but as her fingers slipped beneath his shirt and over the rigid muscles of his chest, his thoughts were shattered by a lightning bolt of pleasure.
Christ, who cared why the woman would choose a debauched rake to be her first lover? It was far too late to halt the inevitable.
“Do not stop, my sweet,” he moaned, his breath catching as her fingers found his sensitive nipples. “Dear God.”
“I am not certain what to do,” she whispered.
“Just keep touching me.” His voice was a hoarse croak, his lips nuzzling down the curve of her throat. “I will take care of everything else.”
She growled, her fingernails scraping lightly against his skin. “Why are you still attired?”
“I wanted to give you a last opportunity to change your mind.” He nipped at her lower lip. “Now I realize it is already too late. I am lost.”
“Ian,” she muttered, her hands impatiently pulling his jacket. “I want to see you.”
Oh . . . yes. God, yes.
Surging off the bench, Ian hurriedly yanked off his confining clothes, his hands shaking so badly that he tore the expensive linen of his shirt as he wrenched it over his head.
It was only when he was completely naked that he came to a halt, vividly aware of Mercy’s darkened gaze sliding over his hard angles and planes before settling on the large erection he could not hide.
As if aware of his throbbing need, Mercy lifted herself onto her elbow and with a tentative hand reached out to lightly touch the tip of his cock.
Ian bit back a shout of bliss, savagely battling against his looming climax.
As if pleased by his response, Mercy allowed her magical fingers to skim down his throbbing shaft.
“Teach me what pleases you.”
Unable to resist temptation, his hand curled about hers, pressing it against his erection.
Never had torture been quite so exquisite.
Mercy was fascinated by the sensation of his hard arousal beneath her fingers.
His skin was so soft, so warm. Like satin over steel.
Reaching the heavy sack at the base of his arousal, Mercy had barely started her exploration when he had clutched her wrist to firmly pull her hand away.
“No more, my sweet,” he growled.
With a frown, she glanced up to discover his features set in grim lines, a dark stain of color crawling beneath his skin.
“Did I do something wrong?”
His sharp laugh echoed through the gazebo as he lowered himself onto the bench next to her.
“I have been unmanned by a virgin,” he husked, his hands running a restless path of destruction over her shivering body. “I want you too much for such a delightful game.”
Mercy was not certain what game he was speaking of, and as his head lowered to suckle her throbbing nipple she realized it did not matter. Not when her entire body was being stroked to a fever pitch by his tender touch.
She had not followed Ian for this purpose. Or at least, not consciously. Now that she was here, however, she realized that she had been aching for this since they were interrupted in the attic.
Whatever the warnings whispering through the back of her mind, she wanted this night. Just a few magical hours in the arms of a gentleman she desired beyond bearing.
Her parents’ arrival had been a brutal reminder that time was slipping away. If she did not grasp this opportunity, she might never know the true meaning of being a woman.
Surely her vague worries could not compare to a lifetime of regret at denying herself her one chance at genuine passion?
Continuing to tease at her breast, Ian allowed his fingers to skim down the curve of her stomach, his touch sending a jolt of heat directly between her thighs.
Her low moan filled the gazebo, but Ian refused to be rushed. With a seeming fascination, he explored her body, gently parting her legs to dip his fingers between her inner thighs.
Mercy squeezed her eyes shut as she arched toward his touch. The storm was gathering within her, but she was not yet prepared to have it end so swiftly. She wanted . . . in truth, she did not know precisely what she wanted; she only knew that it included the heavy weight of Ian lying on top of her.
Lifting her hands to thrust them in the softness of his hair, Mercy tugged his head up to meet her frantic gaze.
“Please, Ian,” she rasped.
His eyes were molten gold in the candlelight, smoldering with a raw desire that sent a shiver down her spine.
“I need you eager for me, my sweet,” he muttered.
She frowned in puzzlement. Good heavens, if she was any more eager she would melt into a puddle at his feet. Parting her lips to assure him she was ready and willing for whatever was to come next, she gave a small scream when his finger slid into the damp heat between her thighs.
Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she arched upward. Around her the night air was filled with the scent of spring flowers and the rasp of Ian’s heavy breath, but her world had narrowed to his expert caresses.
Nothing mattered but the sensation of his finger slowly slipping into her body, his thumb discovering the hidden nub of pleasure.
“Oh,” she moaned. “Oh . . . heavens.”
“Are you ready for me, Mercy?” he demanded as he stroked with a steady rhythm.
Mercy struggled to breathe as a relentless tension coiled in the pit of her stomach.
“Yes, yes.”
“Tell me, Mercy. Tell me you want me,” he commanded as her head twisted on the pillow.
“I want you,” she moaned.
“Yes.”
Continuing to stroke deep into her body, Ian carefully slipped in a second finger. Mercy gasped as she felt herself being stretched.
“Ian?”
He met her bemused gaze, his features tight with retrained need.
“Trust me, Mercy,” he husked. “Can you do that?”
She gave a slow nod. It went against all logic, all common sense. But she did trust him.
As if her heart already understood far more than her mind.
“Come to me, Ian,” she urged softly.
For a moment he stilled, his smoldering gaze drinking in her welcoming expression with a strange intensity.
“Christ, Mercy, what have you done to me?”
Before she could respond, he gave a low, wrenching groan and rolled on top of her willing body.
Mercy sighed in pure pleasure. Yes, this was what she needed. The solid weight pressing her into the cushions. His heated flesh melding with her own.
Following age-old instincts, she parted her legs to allow his hips to cradle between her thighs. She shivered at the sensation of his hard arousal wedged against her damp heat, his chest brushing her sensitive nipples.
This is what she imagined in her deepest fantasies. The heat and scent and sheer intimacy of their bare skin rubbing together.
She hungrily explored the hard muscles of his back, savoring the feel of his male body. This night would have to last her an eternity, and she intended to enjoy every single moment.
On impulse she allowed her nails to scrape against his lower back, a smile curving her lips as gave a jerk and muttered a low curse.
It was incredibly satisfying to know she was not alone in this mindless need.
Resting on his elbows, Ian regarded her with a glittering gaze.
“I can wait no longer, my sweet.”
She reached up to frame his face in her hands. “Neither can I.”
An unexpectedly tender regret rippled over his face. “I have never been with a virgin, but I fear it might hurt.”
“Ian, I want this,” she swore. “I want you.”
He groaned softly, lowering his head to scatter impatient kisses over her flushed countenance.
“Hold on tightly then,” he murmured against her mouth. “There is no going back for either of us.”
He claimed her lips in a possessive kiss as he poised his hips and settled the tip of his erection at her entrance. Mercy caught her breath, her arms wrapping about his neck as he began to merge their bodies.
She had known he was large, but knowing his girth and having it pressing into her with a relentless force were two different things entirely. She was stretched to the limit, so full that it was a breath from genuine pain.
“Ian?” she breathed.
His lips moved to close her eyes with light kisses. “Just try to relax, my sweet, I promise all will be well.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she concentrated on her stiffening muscles, forcing them to ease as he shifted deeper into her damp heat. He was trembling against her, a thin sheen of sweat coating his body as he reached the barrier of her innocence.
“Hold on tightly, Mercy,” he commanded.
She tightened her arms about his neck, more frustrated than frightened by the momentous moment.
“Now.”
The word had barely whispered through the air when he murmured an apology and with one smooth thrust buried himself deep inside her.
There was a flare of pain, enough to make her give a small yelp, but there was also an astonishing sense of completion as he buried his face in the curve of her neck with a low, wrenching groan. For a moment she stilled, simply absorbing the astonishing sensations.
“Mercy, are you hurt?” he rasped, his voice thick with concern.
“I am . . . perfect,” she murmured.
He gave a low moan of relief, his lips nibbling at the curve of her throat to stir the smoldering embers of her desire.
“Yes, you are,” he whispered, shifting to capture her lips in a kiss of sheer possession. “And you are mine.”
Mercy might have been disturbed by his stark claim if he had not chosen that moment to slowly rock his hips forward, his sheathed erection creating a pleasurable friction that swiftly had a sweet tension building deep inside her.
Mercy instinctively arched upward, meeting each thrust. She had never dreamed she could feel so intimately entwined with another. Not just physically, but in the passion that bound them together.
In this moment they were one.
Her fingers restlessly skimmed down his back, gripping his hips as he pulled to her very entrance before plunging back within. Her legs shifted wider, accommodating his quickening pace.
“This must be paradise,” he muttered against her lips. “Never have I felt anything so sweet.”
Mercy did not feel sweet. She felt deliciously wicked. A woman of passion and heat and life. Not an aging spinster at all.
Her nails dug into his skin. His every thrust was rubbing against her pleasure point, the tension within her reaching a critical peak.
“Ian, you must do something,” she moaned.
He chuckled softly, pleased by her impatience. “I told you to trust me, Mercy,” he murmured, his hands shifting beneath her hips to angle her upward.
With swift, relentless strokes he urged Mercy toward that perilous edge, his breath rasping through the air. Her eyes squeezed closed, her body clenched so tight that she was certain she would splinter into a thousand pieces. Then, just when she was certain she could bear no more, he gave one last surge, tumbling her into a maelstrom of exploding bliss.
He swallowed her scream of pleasure with a branding kiss, continuing to pump into her shuddering body until he abruptly wrenched himself from her womb to allow his seed to spill over her stomach in a flood of warmth.
Time seemed to come to a halt as they both floated in the golden aftermath, the silence that settled around the gazebo making it seem as if they were alone in the world.
At last Ian shifted to his side and pulled her into his arms. With a sigh, Mercy snuggled against his side, her mind clouded with wonderment.
She had known that Ian would be a skillful lover. He was, after all, the infamous Casanova. But she could never have suspected just how . . . moving the experience would be.
“Did I please you, sweet Mercy?” he whispered close to her ear.
She hid a sudden urge to smile. Good heavens, could Ian actually fear that his legendary reputation was in danger?
“I am more than pleased, Ian,” she murmured softly, innately sensing that he was in no mood to be teased. “It was everything I dreamed it would be.”
“No regrets?”
Her fingers skimmed across his chest, savoring the feel of his warm male skin.
“No, no regrets,” she assured him, ignoring the tiny ache deep in her heart that warned she was not being entirely honest.