Chapter Thirty-Six
His heart stuttered in his chest. Uneven beats driven by the love he saw on her face. More, by the love that swamped him. She set her lips to his, the kiss tender and soft.
“Be my first, Jones.” She whispered it, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Make love to me.”
“Cat, you are still promised to another.” Oh, but he wanted her. The lust was layered now with love, with longing.
“He will never have my heart. You will.” She slid her hands from his face to his shoulders. “I have learned much of Hedgewood these past weeks. He is not as kind as he seems—he is much like Wycomb. I do not want to give him my body, but I will have no choice if we are wed.”
Every part of Jones burned with fury, knowing that Hedgewood would marry her and have her against her wishes. Never treat her with the compassion and love she deserved.
“I want you to love me, Jones. Just once so that I will know—and I can look back and remember.” Her eyes were huge, her lips curved and inviting. “Give me that gift. Please.”
He was powerless to say no. Determination could withstand honor, but it could not withstand Cat.
“Yes.” He closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against hers. He would make sure she was fulfilled, teach her what it was to be loved so that she would always remember. His arms went around her, drawing her in. “Not here in the study. Upstairs, in my chamber.”
Where he had dreamed of her.
She smiled softly and held out her hand. “Take me there.”
Picking up a candle, he led her up the stairs and through hallways until he reached his bedchamber. Her hand was warm in his, her steps confidant and without hesitation as they entered. He raised the candle high, throwing its light over his possessions.
What would she see? What would she think of his space? His clothes were neatly stored away in a wardrobe. Stacked on a table were the books he preferred to read, beside them a pair of pistols he had been polishing. The bed—which seemed particularly large—was neatly made. The room was simple and clean, as he liked it, without paintings on the damask covered walls or the fuss of pillows on the chair before the fire.
“Here. Let me build the fire so you aren’t cold.”
Releasing her hand, he set the candle on the table and kneeled before the fire to stir the embers.
“I don’t think I could be cold,” she murmured. “I feel as if there is a fire already burning in my body.”
His hands jerked as he laid wood on the glowing embers. He looked at her over his shoulder, pulse beginning to pound. The fire seemed pale compared to her hair in the candlelight, the heat filling the room less than what coursed through his veins.
Quickly, he finished at the fireplace so he could see her again.
Cat had moved to the bed. She sat on the edge of it, her evening slippers set side by side on the floor at her feet. She ran her hands over the plain blue coverlet and pillows, as if testing them. He did not know what her sheets would be made of, but they would be softer than his, he was certain. Though perhaps not—Angel had purchased these linens long ago.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Yes.” She stood, gaze steady and lips curved up as she looked at him. “I only want you for this first time.”
Jones straightened his shoulders, breathed in, and felt some part of his soul strengthen. She trusted him. It was not him giving Cat what she asked for, but Cat granting him her virginity. That was the gift—she was a gift.
“I love you, Cat.”
He pulled her close, pressed his mouth against hers. Her arms circled his neck, and though she had not removed her evening gown, she had removed her gloves. The skin of her inner arms was like silk and drove his need for her higher. He wanted to touch every bit of her skin, learn every hill and valley of her.
She leaned back to look at him. “I cannot undress myself, Jones. Will you?”
“You might be a virgin, my love, but you certainly know how to tempt a man.” He had not intended for his voice to rasp, but his throat released the words as a growl just the same.
Her laugh was as bright as the candle glow. “Only because I want you to undress me. I might manage, but it does not seem to be as enjoyable that way.”
“Then I shall oblige.” Setting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her so that he could reach the cloth covered buttons running along her spine. There were only three, the same color as the ivory gown. Around them, gold thread shot through the ivory silk and shimmered in the light. When the buttons were released, he pushed the sleeves from her shoulders so the bodice pooled around her waist, revealing the pale freckles he remembered from the woods at Ashdown Abbey. He kissed them as he had then, tasting the sweetness of her skin.
She sighed, the sound so soft it barely met his ears. “You make everything inside me turn to liquid, Jones.”
His heart stuttered in his chest, but his hands were steady as he set them to the ties on her stays. He worked quickly to loosen them, still more quickly on the ties of her petticoat, his mind losing its grip on his body. His cock was hard, nearly painful pressed against his fall-front breeches. Still, he tried to be gentle when his hands touched her bared shoulders and turned her again. Pulling the bodice and stays away, sliding the dress down her arms and letting all of it fall to the floor, seemed the most natural movements—as if he had performed them a thousand times before and would do so a thousand more.
She was lovely even in her chemise. It billowed around her, hiding her curves in white linen—but not her collarbones. Those were revealed by the wide scoop of the neckline. Jones ran his forefinger along the fine bones, tracing their shape. When he reached the edge of the chemise she stayed his hand, twined her fingers his.
“Here.” She took his other hand, brought it up to the other side of the neckline. Her gaze met his, the blue burning bright. Together, they pushed the chemise from her shoulders. It drifted lightly to the floor, covering his boots.
Cat stood before him in nothing but lace garters and silk stockings.
He could not breathe. Small, perfect breasts, tipped by a lovely pink. Narrow hips with a slight indentation above. Long legs covered with white silk. The thatch of red-gold at the apex of her legs. All of it stole his breath.
She reached for one of the garters, hand on the ribbon to loosen the tie.
“No, Cat.” He swallowed hard, but the lust in him would not be denied. “Leave them.”
“Indeed?” One brow rose. The matching smile was knowing. “As you wish, then, but I think you should make quick work of your own clothing.”
…
Jones did exactly as she asked.
His clothes were quickly stripped away. He dropped each garment somewhere to the side, but she did not see where. She could only see Jones as each bit of him was revealed. The broad shoulders she so loved were more magnificent without clothing, the strength of his character matching the strength of the muscles there. The lean torso begged to be stroked, his chest perfect to rest her cheek on.
It was his manhood that held her, however. It stood before him, ready, she knew. Cat had lived in the country, had listened to maids gossiping. She was a virgin, but she understood well enough the mechanics of it.
She had not counted on the fact that his need for her would be so compelling. Every part of her filled with a yearning so sharp, so tight that her breathe came in a gasp.
“Enough,” she whispered. “Do not play, Jones.”
The man that scooped her off her feet had hot skin and a hard body, but was gentle as he laid her on the bed. Quickly he climbed onto the bed, but slowly he pressed a kiss to her lips.
So like her Jones.
“I will not play long,” he whispered against her skin as he moved his lips to the hollow between her breasts. “But I need a few minutes. Just a few.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, gripped the thick locks as he took her nipple in his mouth. She cried out, arched toward him, as exquisite sensation shot from her breast to her toes. The laugh low in his throat sent the same thrill through her. He brought his mouth back to hers, seemed to devour her. Mouth, body. She could feel his erection, hard and hot, pressing against her core. Straining, but not entering. Oh, he wanted her. It would have made her smile, but she needed so much she couldn’t move her lips in anything but a kiss. Heat. More. Lips to lips, tongue to tongue.
The hardness left, replaced by his finger. He pulled away from her, looked down at her face as it entered her. She shuddered, and a second finger filled her. They moved in and out, stretching her. Touching some place in her that made her entire body gather everything together to a single spot.
“I want to see your eyes.” The whisper barely rumbled from his chest.
That deep, demanding sound matched the pounding in her blood. Matched the need inside her. His thumb touched a secret place she hadn’t known she had and her body shuddered, though every bit of her being was taut and tight and waiting. She gripped the sheets, certain she would break apart—and kept her gaze on his.
So dark. So focused.
“I love you, Cat.”
Somehow, she came apart. Everything inside her shattered in a glorious burst of sunrise and star set. She clung to him—this man who was strong and ready for her.
While that bright pleasure still swirled through her, Jones set his body against her core. He filled her, easily sliding in as if he belonged there. A dart of pain wove through the joy, but it was so fleeting she simply let it fly away again. Instead, she reveled in the feel of being held and loved. She wrapped her legs around him, heard him groan in response, and delighted in the slow stroke as he moved inside her.
He pressed his face against the curve of her neck, kissed her there, then met her lips as he slowly drew back and then thrust into her again. She gasped, clutched at his shoulders.
“Again, Jones. Again.”
He did, still careful, but deeper. More. As if he would do his best to give her his soul. His breath came fast, but his body rocked in a slow rhythm that began to build something inside her yet again. He watched her face, seemed to draw something from her. Even now, in this moment when he could take his pleasure from her, he focused on her. Waited for something.
She knew what it was as sensation shot through her, as if gold coursed through her veins. She gasped, held her breath, but could not look away from his gaze. He thrust once more, kissed her as if she were everything worthwhile in the world, and pulled his body away from her to finish.
His lips never left hers.