CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CLAREHAVEN, HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND – MID-MAY, 1814
Grace rolled over and opened her eyes, confused by the darkness. She had lain down for a mere moment before dressing for dinner. Why was it pitch black? She sat up. The fire in the fireplace was reduced to glowing embers. She got out of bed and walked to the window, pushing aside the curtain. The moon hung in the inky, star-filled sky.
She must have slept through dinner, the excitement and anxiety of the past few days catching up with her. Her stomach grumbled. Would there be anything in the kitchen at this time of night? It must be after midnight, given the fire. Perhaps Cook would have left something out on which she could nibble.
Pulling on her wrapper, she crept into the hallway. All was quiet and dark as she padded toward the stairs. In which chamber was Damon? Was he, in fact, still here? She hadn’t seen him all day. Would he think she was avoiding him, since she’d appeared at neither breakfast nor dinner?
Her earlier conversation with Eliza echoed through her mind. Could Eliza be right? Was it possible Damon did love her?
A light flickered from under the library door. Who could be in there? She debated whether to pass by, but curiosity got the better of her. Perhaps Dev was up with the baby. He’d said in the carriage he liked to help with Isabelle at night. If so, she should apologize for missing dinner and assure him she was fine. She pushed the door and it opened with a mild squeak.
A man sat on the settee, facing the flames, but it was not Deveric, not with that raven hair. The firelight illuminated the sharp planes of his cheek. Damon.
He turned and their eyes locked. He blinked, then his cheek inched upward as he gave her a crooked smile. “Ah. The mouse emerges at last. I suppose it does not surprise me that books are your cheese. Irresistible.”
He raised a glass to her in mock toast. Brandy, most likely—that’s what her brother favored and kept well stocked. How much had he imbibed? He did not seem foxed.
“Damon,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I overslept and missed dinner.”
He rose, all feline grace. “And you thought to find something to eat in the library?”
Grace clutched at her wrapper, embarrassment making her skin tingle. “No. I—There was a light. I…”
She stilled as he sauntered over to her, his eyes never leaving hers. He stopped mere inches from her body, far too close to be proper. She sucked in her breath. He raised his empty hand and she thought for a moment he was going to put it around her waist, pull her against him, but he merely pushed on the door until it clicked shut.
Grace stared at him, her eyes wide in apprehension and … something else. She shouldn’t be here, in the library, alone with him, in the middle of the night. But he wouldn’t hurt her. The apprehension wasn’t fear. It was excitement. Nervousness. Desire. She licked her lip.
Damon groaned. “God, Grace, what you do to me. Don’t do things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Licking those damn luscious lips. It makes me want to lick them, too.”
At her gasp, he smirked, his eyebrow rising. “But that would mark me for the beast I am, would it not? Taking advantage of a fair maiden in her own castle?”
Grace’s brow knit. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he growled, throwing his arms wide. “You make me want to do bad things. Things I shouldn’t do.”
She wrinkled her nose in confusion. “How is kissing me bad?”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “Because it makes me want to do more. So much more.” He took a sip from his tumbler. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and her fingers itched to touch him there.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he growled.
“Like what?”
“Like the cat who wants the cream. I only have so much self-restraint, dearest Grace. And you’ve already made it clear that you don’t want me.”
She sucked in, hard. “Whatever gave you that idea?” She couldn’t believe the words as they left her mouth. Who was this woman, freely admitting her desire for a man?
Damon leaned in very close, so close his breath caressed her lips, but he didn’t kiss her. “You did. When you refused to marry me.”
Grace gulped. The words were out before she had time to rethink them. “But that had nothing to do with me not wanting you, Damon. Exactly the opposite.”
Perhaps she shouldn’t have said as much. A proper lady wouldn’t. And yet, despite the muddle in which they found themselves, there was something between them. She knew it. She had always known it. True, he hadn’t declared his undying love, but for her to tell herself there were no feelings, no bond of some sort, was an outright lie.
It had felt safer to believe the lie.
Safer for whom? For her, she supposed. So that life would remain the same. So that she could go on with her plans and not have to risk anything, not have to risk everything, on a man. Not merely any man. This man. Because if she had said yes, everything would change. And she couldn’t bear the idea of loving him without him loving her in return.
Damon slammed the tumbler on a table near the door. “What do you mean, it had nothing to do with me? I asked you to marry me, and you said no. I cannot see how that doesn’t have everything to do with me.”
He pinched his eyes shut, pain seeping across his face before he opened them again. “I understand, Grace. I am not what you would want in a husband, not what anyone would want in a spouse. I am damaged. I am a demon, just like they call me. I am unlovable. I’ve always known it.” He jerked away from her and stumbled near the fire.
Grace let out an agonized cry and ran to him, locking her arms around him. “No, Damon,” she said, tears leaking from her eyes. “Don’t speak of yourself in such a way. Ever.”
She ran her hand down his cheek, smoothing her thumb over his lips as if to keep him from saying anything further. “I refused you because I didn’t want you to feel obligated on account of your uncle’s actions. Because you offered me marriage, yes, but a marriage devoid of connection. Of affection. Of passion. Because the way you were speaking was not the way a woman wants the man she’s in love with to propose.”
She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “I love you, Damon Blackbourne,” she murmured against them.
At first, he did nothing. Then it was as if a dam broke, and he clutched her to him, his mouth moving over hers, claiming her, devouring her. “Say it again,” he pleaded. “Say it again, Grace.”
“I love you,” she said, a tear trickling from her eye. She did love him, for better or worse, whatever may come.
He opened his eyes, a blissful smile on his lips until he saw the tear. “Why are you crying, dearest?” He wiped the drop with his finger, then sucked it off his fingertip.
“Because. I am happy,” she whispered. “And I am frightened.”
He pulled her into him again, his arms wrapping her in his solid embrace. She rested her head on his chest and his breath stirred her hair. “Of what? Please tell me not of me. I would never hurt you, Grace. Never. I have this … devil inside of me, but I would never hurt you.”
“I know that.” She took a breath, squaring herself to admit her deepest fear, spurred on by Eliza’s encouragement. “But I watched my mother give her life to my father. She loved him, loved him deeply. And he tired of her. She never meant as much to him as he did to her, and it ruined her, Damon. It ruined her. Only recently, only with the arrival of Eliza, could she see it, how she locked herself behind rigid propriety and rule-following as a desperate way to block out the hurt of my father’s betrayal. She told me as much and warned me, warned all of us, not to do the same.”
He leaned back, cupping her face between his hands. “But why would you think we would have such a marriage?”
“Because of what you said, Damon! In the carriage. You spoke of having to marry me because I was ruined. You spoke of me being a well-trained wife. You said I wouldn’t have to come with you to London, that you’d be happy to leave me behind. Even that we need not have a full marriage. It was everything I never wanted!”
He closed his eyes. “God, I’m such an idiot, Grace. Come.”
He moved to the settee, beckoning her. He sat and when she neared, pulled her on top of him. The intimate connection, so much of their bodies pressing together, was unnerving. Exciting. Arousing.
Cradling her in his arms, he gazed into her eyes, emotion roiling in his own. “I said those things because I thought they might convince you more than anything else.”
He swallowed. “My feelings for you are deeper than anything I’ve ever known, Grace Mattersley. They’re so intense, so complex, they terrify me. You accepted my … movements right from the start, from that first moment in the library.”
He stroked her loose hair from her face. “You’re brilliant. I’ve never doubted women can be as intelligent, if not more so, than men, but for me, lacking any formal education, it’s intimidating.” A sheepish grin spread across his face. “Not very manly of me to admit, is it?”
Pulling her closer before she could respond, he feathered her cheek with kisses. “My whole life I’ve been told, been shown, that I’m unlovable. My mother was the sole person professing otherwise. But even she abandoned me. How could I think otherwise, than to believe I wasn’t worth loving?” He clutched her to him, burying his face in her hair. “To hear you say it. Oh my God, Grace, you can’t imagine how it feels.”
He ran his arm around her middle and up her side, under the wrapper. The heat of his hand soaked through her thin nightgown, and it made her shiver, but not from cold.
“I don’t need a traditional wife. I don’t care if you spend all day in the library reading. I don’t care if I ever learn which spoon is correct, or which form of address goes with which person. I don’t need you to teach me that. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I only need … kindness. I need love.”
He pulled back, gently tilting her chin up with his hand so that their eyes could feast on each other. He smiled, his eyes welling up. “I love you, Grace Mattersley. I love you. You have slain my demons. You have slain me. Will you do me the incredible honor of being my wife?”
Grace’s heart nearly burst. He loved her? He truly loved her? As she loved him? She flattened herself against him, her lips capturing his in a scorching kiss. She poured all of her emotions into him, and he returned the kiss in kind, his hand running down her side. She pressed her breasts against his chest and he moaned, his hand sliding around to gently caress one of the small mounds. He broke off from her mouth.
“I take that as a yes?” he breathed, even as his thumb moved over her nipple, flicking it gently.
“Yes! Oh, yes, Damon!”
He shifted on the settee so that he was lying full-length on it, his head reclined on its arm, Grace on top of him. He ran his arms over her back under her wrapper, his touch arousing the most exhilarating sensations. He moved farther down, cupping her derriere as he pulled her against him, his arousal pressing into her. “Stop me, Grace. Stop me, or so help me God, I’ll take you right here on this sofa.”
She wriggled against him, delighting in her power. “Why ever would I?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m already a ruined woman, am I not? You said that’s why I needed to marry you.”
He groaned as she shifted against him. “Forget what I said. I’m an idiot.”
He made to push the wrapper from her shoulders, and she sat up, aiding him, dropping it to the floor. The nightgown she wore was modest, a thick cotton not at all seductive in any manner, but he beheld it as if she were wearing a gossamer negligee. Hesitantly, he reached up and undid the long row of buttons at the front, his eyes never leaving hers as the gown dropped farther and farther open. At last he pulled it down past her breasts to her waist. And then he stared.
Grace fought the instinct to cover her chest with her arms. No, she would not show shame, for there was nothing of which to be ashamed. He reached up and cupped the small mounds in his palms. His pupils dilated. “You are so beautiful. So very beautiful.”
He slid a hand around her back and tipped her forward so that one of her nipples grazed his lips. He opened his mouth, eagerly sucking on the tip. An unexpected bolt of electricity coursed through her, her eyes flying open wide for a second before she closed them and gave herself over to the sumptuous feelings he awakened in her. She braced one arm on the settee, trying to steady herself against the waves of sensation crashing over her. She pressed her hips into his, seeking the pressure, and he moaned against her breast.
“I want,” he said, his breath coming in short gasps, “to see you. All of you.”
Grace’s skin flushed in spite of herself, but she stood up, instantly missing the heat of his body. “Only if you return the favor,” she whispered, casting him a flirtatious glance.
Damon leapt up, his fingers flying to his cravat.
“No, no. Let me.” She pushed his hands away and worked at untying the knot herself, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips as she concentrated.
Damon chuckled. “You are irresistible. The tip of that tongue drives me wild.”
She leaned forward and licked his neck. He shook at the contact. “Mmm,” she said. “I will have to think of other things to do with it.”
Gracious, where had that boldness come from? She wasn’t even sure what she’d meant, but he instantly responded. His hands flew back to her breasts, kneading them before feverishly pushing her gown down over her hips.
“Now that’s not fair. I’m completely naked and the only thing I’ve managed to wrest off of you is your cravat.” Her sauciness surprised her, but she gave a sultry laugh as his hands slid across her skin, once again clutching her derriere and pulling her flush against him.
Her hands moved back up and she pushed against him. He released her, a puzzled look on his face until she pulled at his shirtfront. He worked on loosening his breeches as she pushed his shirt up, her fingers running over the smooth muscle and light sprinkling of hair on his chest.
“Not so fast,” she practically purred. “I want to undress you myself.”
Damon stilled as she caressed his shoulders, then stroked her hands along his back. “Who is this siren?” he said. “She has most definitely bewitched me. I am her slave.”
Grace giggled. Her boldness caught her unaware, as well. She’d had a kiss or two before Damon, but that was all. Yet this felt so good, so right, that she felt no guilt, felt no shame. They were one, bound together for all time. She reached for his loosened breeches and pushed them down. Where they caught on his boots.
“Bother!” she said. “I’m obviously a novice at this.”
“Perhaps it is unfair to say, but I am happy to hear that.” He sat and pulled off the boots one by one before rising again. The breeches followed the boots, and he stood there, clad only in his smalls. Black smalls.
Something about that made her smile. A wicked little smile, as her eyes ran up and down his muscular legs, so different from her own softer, fleshier ones.
“You are like a Roman statue,” she proclaimed. There was no mistaking the solidness of his form. Her confidence faltered at the bulge in the front of his smalls.
“And you my Venus.” His eyes raked over her. He did not touch her, though, merely waited. “If you wish to stop, Grace, so help me God, I will. I don’t want to. But I will.”
“No,” she said. “I’m merely a bit nervous.” Her cheeks burned with the admission.
“Truth be told, so am I.”
At those honest words, she moved forward again, wrapping her arms around his waist, rubbing her naked breasts against his chest. What a strange sensation, warm skin on warm skin, his hard but yet soft with hair, hers delicately tender. His lips found hers and they lost themselves in a fervent kiss. Her hands snaked down and carefully pushed the smalls until they fell to the ground. Damon kicked them to the side. They stood, pressed full-length into each other.
He danced her to the settee and lay her down. He parted her legs and settled himself between them, the firmness of his length against her most private spot causing her to writhe in pleasure. He smiled at that before moving to suckle her breasts again, first one, then the other. “Such perfect beauties,” he whispered.
“They are not too small?” she asked, trepidation lacing her voice.
“They are perfect.” He rose up over her, making room for his hand to slide down her soft belly into the curls below. He traced his finger along her cleft and she made mewling noises, reveling in his touch.
“Here?” he asked as he found a most sensitive spot.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Oh, yes.”
He stroked her, his tongue and lips pressing caresses against her breast. A magnificent expectation built through her body, like waves lapping the shore, pulling back and surging forward again under the skillful ministrations of his fingers. Suddenly, she burst, her hips bucking under his hand as infinite tiny flames shot through her entire body.
“Damon!” The sensation was beyond exquisite, and she clutched him to her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, wanting to share it with him.
He said nothing, his eyes dark with need, but kissed her, thrusting his tongue between her lips as he moved between her legs. “I hope this doesn’t hurt,” he said.
She didn’t have time to respond, because he was sliding into her, the huge length of him. It was the strangest sensation, but not entirely painful. He went slowly, pausing as he was able, his breath coming in harsh gasps.
“Are you—?” he said, but she broke him off, pulling his lips to hers. As he kissed her, she reached down and pressed against his buttocks, burying him deeper, as deep as he could go, inside her. He groaned with pleasure and began to move, slowly at first, then building up to a steadier, faster speed.
He was inside her. How could that be? It was peculiar. It was marvelous. She lost all thought, giving herself over to the experience. He pounded into her, his back slick with sweat, his neck taut with anticipation and need.
“Oh God, Grace,” he cried, and she moved with him, her hips meeting his in an age-old dance.
“Yes, Damon.” He was nearing the same precipice to which he had led her. “Yes.”
At the sound of his name on her lips, he exploded, pumping into her a few more times until he collapsed on top of her, his head buried in the side of her neck.
They lay there for a long while. She ran her fingers languidly over his back, savoring the intimacy of what had just transpired. He pressed light kisses against her neck.
“I love you, Damon Blackbourne,” she whispered, a contented feeling like she’d never known settling over her body.
His fingers intertwined with hers. “And I you, Grace Mattersley … Blackbourne.”