Belle held her breath as her trembling fingertips combed nervously through his silky hair, waiting for him to say something…anything. But he didn’t, and in his silence, each beat of her heart pounded like a drum, so loud she was certain he could hear it.
Yet she couldn’t help herself. She knew she’d made the right decision not to marry, no matter how fearful the prospect of leaving her home. Just as she knew it was right and good to be here with Quinton. There would be no wedding night for her, no marriage bed—there would be only tonight, and she wanted to share it with Quinton. Every inch of her, full heart and soul, begged for exactly that.
Yet what she wanted was more than just the physical touches her body craved. She wanted the comfort she knew Quinn could bring her, his strength and reassurances, his resolve never to surrender even when she herself had given up. She wanted him. All of him, right down to that charming grin. If only for tonight.
When he didn’t answer, her fingertips stilled. She stared up at him, confused. “I thought…”
“You thought what?” he pressed, puzzling her further. Instead of the desire she expected to see on his face, a mask carefully hid his thoughts.
Not at all what she’d expected. “Apologies.” Her cheeks heated with humiliation. And confusion. But she’d seen his desire with her own eyes! How could she have been so wrong? “Apparently, I was mistaken.”
When she moved to step away, his hands slid down her arms and pulled her against him, stopping her. “You thought what, Annabelle?” he murmured, each breath tickling hotly against her lips.
She shivered, drinking in the heat and strength of him. “That you wanted me,” she breathed. “Do you?”
Sliding an arm around her waist to keep her hips pressed against his, he cupped her face against his palm and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. Each little caress spun an electric tingle through her. “Very much.”
She gasped as his fingers trailed down her neck to touch her racing pulse in the hollow at the base of her throat. His lips curled into a pleased smile. The most confusing man, and the most thrilling she’d ever met. More—he was protection and security. And when he touched her, he felt like…home.
His fingers paused in their downward caress at the neckline of her dress. So close but not yet touching the swells of her breasts now rising and falling rapidly as she fought to keep both her breath and her wits. He brushed his lips against her ear. “But do you want me?”
Heavens yes. She trailed her fingertips across his cheek, wanting tonight with him more than she’d wanted anything in her life. Perhaps as much as she wanted Glenarvon. He was leaving, she was staying…and tonight she simply didn’t care about the future. All that mattered was being as close to him as possible, both body and soul. She would worry about the morning when it came.
His eyes shined brightly in the darkness. “Do you, Annabelle?”
If he only knew what she really felt for him! She gave a throaty laugh, only for the sound to catch in her throat when he captured her breast against his palm, cupping her fullness in a gesture so possessive that she shuddered from the intensity of it.
His fingers teased lightly at her nipple through the silk of her gown, and a wisp of pleasure drifted through her. Her breasts grew heavy and warm, and she leaned harder against him, begging him with her body to give her more.
“Well…to be honest,” she panted out beneath the wonderful sensation of her nipple pebbling against his palm, “you were…my second choice.”
His hand stilled. “Oh?”
That was definitely jealousy! And her heart soared with it. “But Angus Burns was busy, so—”
“Bluestocking,” he growled as he captured her lips beneath his to give her a blistering kiss whose hunger stole her breath away.
She clung to him as he ravished her mouth and left her craving more. Even now, pressed against him with her arms wrapped around his neck and the heat of his body soaking into hers, she still wasn’t close enough.
A soft moan of need rose from her lips. “I want you, Quinton,” she murmured as he drank in her words. I love you…Not a single doubt existed inside her about giving herself to him tonight.
Still kissing her, he carefully maneuvered her backward, and she went willingly. All of her prickled with pins and needles of nervous anticipation, but oh, how much she wanted this! When he lowered his head to kiss her again, her body arched against his with a whimper of willing capitulation.
He released her from his arms only long enough to strip out of his jacket. As she watched him, her stomach somersaulted with pure nervousness. He was undressing. If what she wanted to share with him tonight happened, then of course—but heavens, he was undressing! She trembled with trepidation…
Until he draped the jacket over the waist-high stones behind her.
She blinked, puzzled. “Why did you do that?”
He grinned. “So I can do this.”
His hands encircled her waist and lifted her easily off the ground, to set her on top the low wall. Then he planted his hands against the stones on both sides of her and leaned in for a kiss. Slow, intense, and of single purpose…to make clear how much he wanted her. The kiss grew until she panted breathlessly against him, until her thighs clenched to quell the throbbing heat at her core that threatened to consume her.
She clung helplessly to him as his mouth swept along her jaw to her ear. Every touch of his lips to her body only increased the longing she felt for him. He nibbled teasingly at her earlobe before drawing it between his lips and sucking, before the tip of his tongue circled the outer curl of her ear—
His tongue swirled inside her ear, and she gasped.
“Beautiful Belle,” he murmured, plunging his tongue inside once more and rewarding her with a shivering, aching shudder. “Finally mine.”
She dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his shoulders to keep from falling away, even with the solid rock beneath her. The world whirled around her, and her only anchor was Quinn. And oh, what an anchor! Even now his hard muscles rippled beneath her fingertips, his body solid and broad. Nervousness flooded through her at the thought of what that very large, solid, and broad body was going do with hers tonight.
“Quinn.” Her voice emerged as a tremulous whisper. “I don’t know…what to do.”
“Don’t worry,” he murmured teasingly against her throat as his lips kissed lower. “I do.”
“Quinton!” She smacked her palm against his shoulder to get his attention, then repeated softly with a bit of embarrassment, “I don’t know what to do.”
He lifted his mouth from her neck and cupped her face delicately in his hands. In the shadows, his face was solemn. “Nervous, Belle?”
She nodded. At her silent acknowledgment, he tenderly touched his lips to hers.
“If it helps,” he admitted, “I’m nervous, too.”
That did help…but not much. Compared to those experienced ladies in London, he must think her a boring, backward dolt.
He brushed his thumb slowly back and forth across her bottom lip in a caress that was more soothing than seductive, yet still left her craving more. “I’ll teach you, all right?”
She nodded jerkily, feeling like a wanton for wanting exactly that—for Quinn to instruct her in all the arts of intimacy, so she could bring him the same pleasures he brought to her.
“It’s simple,” he assured her. “There’s only one rule.”
Rules? Dear God, there were rules to this? A new panic sprung up inside her, and she felt like an utter cake as she asked, “Which is?”
“You can do anything you want. If it feels good to you, do it. And if it feels good to me…” He grinned. “Do it twice.”
She laughed, and the nervousness ebbed from her, replaced by a happy anticipation that tickled at her toes. Only Quinn could make her laugh at such an important moment in her life. And her heart sang because of him.
His grin faded as he stroked his knuckles across her cheek. “You’ll be ruined.”
That no longer mattered. She’d come to her decision. Tonight would be the first and only time she would ever give herself to a man.
Leaning forward, her mouth captured his as she tried to convey all of that to him. She poured every ounce of her aching heart and soul into that kiss, singular in its importance and in the overwhelming love she felt for him.
Tender and sweet, with the tantalizing promise of more, his lips caressed hers in equal measure of both demanding and coaxing for her to deepen the kiss. So she did exactly that, slipping her tongue tentatively between his lips to explore the spicy depths of his mouth and stroke her tongue along his, the same way he’d done to her.
He groaned. His arms clasped around her as he thrust his tongue between her lips in a rapid series of plunges and retreats that left her breathless and aching.
Oh, how much his kisses had changed from six years ago! There was none of the fumbling of before; now there were only smooth, masculine movements that savored at the same time that they intensified with growing arousal. While the eagerness was still there, now pulsing electrically through both of them, it had been tempered by time into a tantalizingly seductive control.
And a very wicked part of her wanted to make his control snap.
He’d urged her to do whatever felt good, so…“I think this would feel good,” she whispered as her hands slid down his chest to unbutton his waistcoat.
“It does,” he assured her between gentle nips of his teeth at her throat.
She laughed. “I meant for me!”
And it did. The brocade was soft and smooth beneath her fingertips as she pushed it open and down over his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. She trembled at the boldness of what she was doing. A secret thrill pulsed through her and landed deliciously between her thighs. Still, she wanted more.
“This, too,” she whispered, then did the same with his cravat, untying the long cloth of white silk and dropping it away.
She hesitated then, not knowing what to do next.
Sensing her uncertainty, he slid his hands up her back, where his clever fingers made quick work of unfastening her dress. The loose bodice sagged low over her breasts, and with a gasp, she crossed her arms over her chest, catching it before it fell away completely. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath the silk gown except for stockings, the tightly fitted bodice making both shift and stays unnecessary. A hot blush flushed her face as she realized what he must think of her, that she must be a wanton to dare to dress so boldly.
But when his hands slipped beneath the silk and caressed warmly over her bare back, all embarrassment fled, and she gained a new appreciation for her dressmaker.
“Does that feel good?” he whispered, brushing his mouth back and forth across her bare shoulder.
“Yes,” she admitted. Oh, a great deal!
She slowly relaxed and released her clamping hold over the bodice. And that—oh, that was the exact right thing to do, because his hands at her back slipped around to her front, somehow nudging the bodice down while simultaneously stroking in featherlight touches across the bare skin beneath. When his hands captured her breasts, she shrugged her shoulders and the bodice slipped down her arms and fell away, baring her from the waist up.
She closed her eyes, not in embarrassment but because the cool air on her hot skin felt so heavenly. So did the way his work-roughened palms gently kneaded her bare breasts, how her nipples puckered impossibly tighter beneath his flicking thumbs. She moaned deeply at the throbbing he flamed inside her. Her breasts grew heavy against his hands, and the ache at her nipples pulled straight through her to the moist heat gathering between her legs.
“Dear God, Annabelle,” he rasped out. “You are so beautiful.”
His lips closed around her right nipple. She gasped at the exquisite sensation of his mouth suckling at her, at the bold way he tongued her. He released her nipple and drew back just far enough to blow a stream of cold air against her moist skin.
“Quinton!” She jumped at the sharp sensation, then moaned in sheer pleasure as his hot mouth once again closed over her, heating away the cold until she melted against him like butter. “You are…wicked,” she panted out, digging her fingers into his thick hair.
She laughed when he looked up at her and grinned impishly before moving his mouth to her other breast to start the sweet torture anew. “Very much so,” he mumbled against her bare skin.
A thrill shivered through at the delicious hope that he’d show her exactly how wicked he could be. Because if what he did to her was wicked, then it was also so very, very good.
“I think,” she whispered as she licked her lips and bit back a soft moan as he worried her nipple between his teeth, as if deciding whether to devour her slowly or gulp her down all at once, “that I know what else might feel good.”
Her fingers slipped down to his sides, pulled the lawn shirt free from his trousers, and let it hang loose around his hips. Then she slipped her hand under his shirt to touch the warm skin beneath.
“It does feel good,” she confirmed as her fingers fluttered across the ridges of his abdomen to his hard chest. Everywhere she touched, his muscles rippled beneath her fingertips. Like magic.
Her hesitant explorations grew bolder, her hands stroking higher and higher across his chest until her fingers traced over his hard male nipples. He flinched beneath the flick of her fingertips.
With a happy laugh, Belle pushed him back far enough to lift the shirt up over his head and toss it away.
“It’s only fair,” she challenged. After all, her own breasts were exposed both to the cool night and to his hot stare.
His muscular chest was bare to her now. She leaned forward to take one of his nipples between her lips and suck shamelessly, the same way he’d done to her. He inhaled sharply when she nipped lightly at him, then she soothed away the pleasure-pain with feathery kisses until he groaned.
“I know what else might feel good,” she whispered against his chest, then licked her way up to his throat as her hands moved lower, following the trail of golden hair down his stomach to his waistband.
“Annabelle,” he whispered hoarsely, her name uttered in both warning and desire as her trembling hand cupped his bulging manhood through his trousers.
She laughed again, this time in wonder at the hardness of him against her fingers, the heavy weight of him resting against her palm. Then, somehow, he seemed to grow impossibly harder and larger as she caressed him.
Closing his eyes, he hung his head as his shoulders slumped, reminding her of a giant cat welcoming her petting strokes. From the blissful expression on his face, she almost expected him to purr. But this man was a tiger, and he starkly reminded her of that as he shifted his hips to press himself harder into her hand.
Without stopping her caresses, she kissed him, outlining his lips with the tip of her tongue. “Do you like that?”
With a low growl, he reached between them, flicked open his fall, and shoved her hand down inside his trousers.
She froze. His bare length rested against her palm, and his hand encircled her wrist to keep her from pulling away. Her heart pounded furiously in her ears. Had she gone too far? Had she done something that—
“Do it twice,” he panted out.
Her heart somersaulted. He liked what she was doing to him! And if it felt half as good to him to be touched like this as it had to her, then she knew he wanted it. Desperately.
Her hand folded around him, cupping him the same way she had through the trousers, but this time, no barrier prevented her from stroking the soft skin covering the steely hardness beneath. Her strokes became increasingly bolder, more confident as appreciative groans and growls escaped from the back of his throat, until she drew him free of the constricting material and he sprang straight against her palm.
She stilled. So large and thick, so long and hard—her stomach knotted. Suddenly their play had turned serious.
“Annabelle.”
Her gaze lifted to his, and she lost her breath.
His eyes stared hungrily down at her and made her shiver beneath their dark heat. This was what it was like to be with Quinton all the time, she realized, not just in his arms but every moment—a fierce oncoming storm, filled with an intensity that left her breathless.
Slowly, he slipped a hand down between them and covered her fingers with his own, then guided her in a slow, smooth stroke along his length to show her how to give him the pleasure he craved. He was patiently instructing her, just as he’d promised, and she blinked at the unexpected tears forming on her lashes.
With his free hand, he reached up to cup her face and reassuringly touched his lips to hers in a kiss so light that it was barely a kiss at all.
“Do you know what happens between men and women?” His breath had grown ragged, yet he still guided her fingers in her slow strokes.
She gave a jerky nod. “Like how you…caressed me in the pond, except…”
“Except with this,” he finished, squeezing her fingers gently as they encircled his thick girth. “This part of me slides inside you.”
Belle knew she should have been embarrassed by that, but she wasn’t. She didn’t even blush. This was Quinn, and she would never be self-conscious with him. His patience with her, his willingness to put her at ease— Surely, there was some kind of caring behind that. There had to be. Because she certainly cared for him.
“I know,” she breathed, so softly that the sound was nearly lost against the silence of the night surrounding them. “I’ve read about it.”
He grinned at her. “Of course you did.”
“But the books were wrong.” They had to be. To do that when he was so big— “I don’t think it’s possible.”
“Trust me,” he murmured. “It’s very possible.”
“But you’re huge!”
He laughed, a rich and throaty sound that filled her with warmth, as his arms went around her and hugged her to him. When he kissed her again, this time sucking softly at her bottom lip as he retreated, she suspected she’d said the best thing in the world to him…but she had no idea why that should please him so, when she’d only pointed out why they’d have to stop.
“It will hurt the first time,” he explained, tenderly stroking his fingertips over her cheek. “I can’t prevent that.”
She drew a deep breath and nodded, knowing that he would never intentionally hurt her.
“But I can prevent getting you with child.”
As he reached to retrieve something from his jacket breast pocket, she felt a stab of panic sweep through her. Getting with child? She hadn’t considered—but Quinn had, and she realized again how much she could trust him to protect her.
“It’s not as nice, I’ll admit.” He gently nudged her fingers away from him. In the shadows, she couldn’t see what he was doing, but when he brought her hand back to him, she felt a soft sheath covering his length, tied close to his body with a tiny ribbon. “But it’s necessary. All right?”
Another jerky nod, although she wasn’t certain exactly what she was agreeing to. But if Quinn thought it was needed…She sighed and trailed her fingers teasingly over his length just as she’d done earlier, careful not to knock the sheath from its place.
“Good,” he growled and swooped his head down to plunder her mouth, this kiss hot and openmouthed, hungry and full of wanton invitation. “Very good.” Her hand tightened around him, and he groaned. “And oh so wicked.”
“I’m not wicked,” she protested against his mouth.
“You are. A wicked angel.” With a smile against her lips, he rested his hands on her knees. “You’re a walking contradiction, Annabelle.”
His hands slid slowly upward, pulling her skirt carefully up along her thighs. With each little kiss he leaned in to take, he gently rocked her back and forth, freeing the material from beneath her until her dress lay bunched around her waist.
“An alluring, luscious contradiction…” He tenderly kissed her brow, and she closed her eyes with a soft sigh. “All independence and strength on the outside, so soft and sweet beneath.”
He gently parted her legs and stepped between her thighs. He stood so close now that the heat of his bare chest warmed her breasts, and the sprinkling of golden hair tickled at her nipples. Excitement and nervousness warred within her. Goose bumps sprouted across her skin with a shiver as his hands caressed up her inner thighs, stroking over the bare flesh above her stockings, higher and higher—
When he touched her folds, she jumped.
“Shh,” he whispered at her temple. “Relax, Belle.”
“I—I am r-relaxed.”
He chuckled, the deep sound rumbling into her. As one hand moved up to possessively cup her breast, he lightly stroked his fingers against her folds with the other. “You are so beautiful, yet you don’t realize how much,” he whispered. His words heated through her nearly as much as his fingers as he continued to stroke against her, and she bit her lip against the whimper of need that rose from her throat. “And you have no idea how very special this is for me, to be with you.”
She wasn’t naïve enough to believe him. “You’ve been with dozens of women. I’m not special.”
“Look at me, Belle,” he ordered, and she opened her eyes. His gaze met hers in the dark shadows. “You are special to me…this bluestocking who wears men’s clothes and cheats at chess.”
When she opened her mouth to bite out an angry retort, he slipped his finger inside her tight warmth, and the rejoinder melted into a low moan of pleasure as he slid in and out of her slippery core. Oh, what a wicked, wicked man!
She trembled helplessly as the undeniable ache inside her grew. So intense and wonderful that it stole her breath away, forcing her to bury her face against his neck and breathe in soft pants.
“I have been drawn to you since the first time we kissed,” he murmured, continuing his tantalizing strokes inside her. “And contrary to what you may believe about me…”
A moaning gasp tore from her as his fingers gave a swirling, deep plunge inside her and his thumb flicked across the little bead buried at the top of her folds. She knew what came next because of what he’d done to her in the pond, how the pleasure would pulse through her in wonderful, breathtaking waves. She held her breath in sweet anticipation—
Instead, he withdrew from her. A whimper of utter desolation crossed her lips at the sudden loss of him.
“I’ve never taken a woman’s virginity before,” he finished quietly.
As her arousal-fogged brain tried to process that soft admission, she felt him reach between them, to position himself at her center and nestle his sheathed tip against her ready folds. His large hands encircled her waist.
“You, Annabelle,” he murmured as he pressed his hips toward hers and the first inch of his manhood sank inside her, “are very special.”
She trembled nervously as he slowly slid farther inside her, his hands on her hips drawing her against him even as he shifted forward to sink deeper between her thighs. Her body stretched to accommodate his thick girth as if she were made to fit him.
Inch by slow inch, careful not to hurt her, he gently slid himself deeper until his arms encircled her and her breasts pressed flat against his hard chest. He whispered her name, and the last traces of nervousness and embarrassment vanished from her, leaving only the certainty that this moment was right. Because of Quinn.
“Beautiful Belle,” he whispered hoarsely, his shoulders tense beneath her fingertips and his body shaking with restraint as he held himself still inside her, not yet stroking her the way her body craved. The way she needed him to move inside her.
She writhed against him. “Quinn, please.”
With a deep groan, he stepped forward as he pulled her hips toward him, thrusting through her resistance and plunging himself inside her tight warmth to the hilt.
She cried out at the sharp pinch. But within seconds the pain was gone, leaving only the wonderfully strange sensation of her body stretched wide around his, welcoming his strength and the precious security of having him close to her, until they were one.
“Are you all right?” he whispered against her temple, his voice hoarse with concern and arousal.
She nodded, unable to speak around the acute disappointment that swept through her that this was what making love was all about. Not exactly uncomfortable, yet not the wonderful pleasures he’d given her before.
But when he finally moved against her, each shift of his hips came as a delectable stroke inside her.
She moaned softly. Oh, the sensation was wonderful! Simply heavenly. She’d anticipated the same soft, fluttering strokes he’d given her with his fingers, but this was so much better, so much more. Each smooth retreat from her warmth came as a wicked tickle, each returning plunge an electric shiver.
Happiness swelled inside her. This was what her body had craved from the first time his lips had touched hers, this amazing physical joining that brought both breathtaking pleasure and trembling vulnerability. Even six years ago when he’d first kissed her, when she didn’t know anything about the intimacies men and women shared, a secret part of her had longed for exactly this. With him.
She arched herself into his hard body, achingly whispering his name. Closer…she wanted him even closer.
“Wrap your legs around me, Annabelle,” he instructed, not ceasing in his smooth rocking. Each little stroke inside her now came with a swirl of his hips that sent tingles shooting out to the ends of her fingers and toes. She did as he asked and raised her legs, locking her ankles together at the small of his back.
But immediately, she realized she couldn’t move, not sitting perched at the edge of the wall. A frustrated whimper rose from her. Knowing what she needed, he lowered her onto her back and followed down on top of her, until his body covered hers.
In this new position, with the heavy weight of him pressed deliciously down on her pelvis and her thighs held open wide around the cradle of his hips, his movements changed. No longer giving the rocking strokes of before, he now thrust hard and deep inside her, each plunge shooting an intense shiver through her.
Squeezed between his warm body above her and the cold rock beneath, she gave over to the pulsating ache he flamed at her core, to the quivering tightening of her intimate lips around his thick manhood. Unable to remain still, she arched herself into his thrust.
He sucked in a mouthful of air through clamped teeth. “Damnation, woman,” he muttered in an appreciative warning, his voice husky. “Keep doing that, and—”
“And what?” This time when she arched against him, longer and harder than before, an animal-like growl tore from him.
“This.” He ducked his head and captured her breast in his mouth. Even as he continued to stroke between her thighs, he took her nipple deep inside his mouth and sucked hard in time to his relentless thrusts.
She gasped as flames licked at the backs of her knees. Every stroke of his body into hers only tightened her insides, like a coil ready to spring.
Now…she had to move now. Unlocking her ankles and lowering her legs, she planted the soles of her slippers firmly against the rock beneath her and pushed. Her hips rose up against his, audaciously lifting to meet each hard thrust. The movement brought him deliciously deeper inside her, yet that only temporarily eased the tension mounting within her. When it returned, it arrived with the intensity of a tidal wave, and she wrapped her body around his and held on for dear life.
She cried out his name as the tension broke inside her. Quinn smothered her mouth with his, to drink in her cry as a liquid heat pulsed out through her fingers and toes, engulfing her in its warmth. Her body quivered uncontrollably around his, and at that moment, she wanted nothing more than for him to become part of her forever.
Seconds later, the muscles in his back tensed beneath her fingertips, and she heard a low groan swell up from him as his own release came. He shuddered violently as his thighs strained against hers, then his body went limp. He rested his forehead on her bare shoulder and fought to regain his stolen breath.
Neither of them moved, and she was glad for it, because she wanted to stay right there in the protective strength of his arms, with the pulse of his heart beating so hard that it echoed within her. She was certain her own heart beat just as hard. How could it not? What he’d done with her was simply astonishing in its actions and utterly blissful in its wanton pleasures, and she’d never felt happier in her life.
At that moment, still wrapped tightly within his embrace, she was free.
Then he slowly shifted away from her, reluctantly sliding himself from her warmth, and she had no choice but to let him slip from her arms. He removed the clever little sheath, then buttoned up his trousers and reached down for the discarded cravat at his feet.
He leaned over her as she still lay draped across the stones, utterly satiated and relaxed, and placed a soft kiss to her lips. “Hold still. You’ve bled a little,” he explained with a touch of embarrassment, gently stroking the silk between her legs to clean her. “We can’t risk staining your dress.”
But the soft caress of the smooth, cool silk brushing against her sensitized folds sent a new shiver of pulsing arousal through her. A sighing moan escaped her.
He grinned against her lips and murmured, “Insatiable.”
She laughed, certain she was. But only for him.
When he finished and moved away to dress, she sat up and winced at the sharp pain. She would have bruises on her bottom and on the backs of her legs from the stone wall, but she simply didn’t care. Tonight had been wonderful, and she would never regret it. Resisting the urge to seduce him into doing all those deliciously wicked things all over again—for now, anyway—she pulled up her bodice and carefully wiggled down her skirt.
He returned to her, his waistcoat hanging open and his neck rakishly bare. Her breath caught in her throat. Goodness. Even half-dressed and rumpled, he’d never been more breathtaking.
“Bluebell,” he murmured as he smiled at her through the shadows, such a self-satisfied grin that she couldn’t help but smile back. She didn’t want to think about what lay ahead for them. At that moment, with her body still warm and pulsing with pleasure from his, she refused to think about anything past tonight.
He gathered her into his arms and held her close for a precious moment more, just long enough for her to rest her cheek against his shoulder and breathe deep the familiar scent of him, now deliciously tinged with the musky aroma of sex. Then he gently helped her to the ground, fastened up her dress, and finished straightening her skirts and bodice, making certain no trace of what they’d done was visible.
His careful attention made her heart ache. He cared about her, she was certain of it. This tender act proved it. Perhaps he would never love her, but at least she knew she mattered to him, if only in this small way.
When she moved to step away, he encircled her in his arms and pulled her back against him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he insisted gently, his cheek nuzzling the side of her neck. “I want to hold you a bit longer.”
She closed her eyes and nodded, sighing deeply, so happy and at peace within the circle of his arms.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
She smiled. “I’m wonderful.”
“Yes.” His lips smiled against her ear. “You certainly are.”
An easy, happy laugh fell from her lips. Only Quinn could make her laugh at a moment like this!
He placed a kiss against her shoulder and murmured, “I didn’t expect for that to happen, you know. Not here, not like that.”
“You didn’t?” She stiffened, her body flashing with sudden apprehension. Had she made a horrible mistake?
“Oh, I wanted you all right,” he drawled wolfishly. “From the moment I arrived here. That first evening when I found you swimming in the pond, I wanted to jump in after you and have my way with you.”
She laughed.
“Repeatedly,” he growled.
More laughter poured from her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. She squeezed her arms over his as he held her. Nothing else in the world existed at that moment except for Quinn and the cocooning shadows of the ruins, except for the strong beat of his heart against her back.
“But you should have had roses and wine, satin sheets, and a down bed,” he added with regret. “It should have been something special that you’ll never forget.”
She drew a deep breath and admitted, “Six years.”
In puzzled surprise, he lifted his mouth from her shoulder. “That’s a bit exact for forgetting, don’t you think?”
“No, goose!” She laughed. “You kissed me for the first time six years ago, and I haven’t forgotten it.” Not the rakish way he’d looked in his formal evening clothes, not the scent of the roses or the way the music wafted faintly through the dark gardens, not the way he’d kissed her so breathlessly…not the way he’d created that same intense longing inside her that he’d finally satisfied tonight. “So if I can remember one little kiss for six years, then how could I ever forget tonight?”
“Belle,” he whispered, tenderness lacing his hoarse voice.
He turned her in his arms and cupped her face against his palm as he lowered his head to kiss her. The moment was bittersweet, so much so that she ached with it.
He broke the kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him close, not wanting this moment to end so soon. Although she knew they only had tonight, she would have gladly remained right there in his arms forever.
Then he stiffened, not so much that anyone else would have noticed. But Belle did. She now noticed everything about him, so attuned had she become to this man. He asked quietly, “You’ll make the announcement tonight, then?”
Confusion mingled with the satiated pleasure fogging her mind. She blinked. “Pardon?”
“When we return to the party.” He inhaled a deep breath of resolve. “You’ll announce that we’re engaged. That I’m the man you’re going to marry.”
The realization of what he was saying—and why—spilled over her like icy water, instantly chilling the blossoming warmth inside her. Slowly, she loosened her arms around his neck and lowered herself back until she could look up into his face, which had grown suddenly grim.
Far too grim for a man who had just made love to the woman he wanted to marry.
The happiness inside her vanished, the loss of it pricking like petals ripped from a flower. She pressed in a trembling whisper, “But you refused before.”
“I also promised to protect you, and now it’s the only way to save Glenarvon.” He glanced away guiltily. “I also just ruined you.”
She leaned back against the rock for support as swift desolation sliced into her. “You made love to me,” she corrected softly.
With each beat of her heart that jarred through her, her soul yearned to hear him say the words…I love you, Annabelle. I want to marry you because I love you and want to be with you, and no other reason. But as each heartbeat ticked off the silent seconds, she knew he wasn’t going to say any of that.
Instead, he replied quietly, “A gentleman marries a lady when he takes her innocence.”
Her hands gripped the rock, this time to keep from falling to the cold ground. The pain that bore into her with each tortured breath she took filled her with a wretched anguish, so brutal that she could barely breathe. How did she not shatter from the pain of it, right there among the ruins?
When she’d chased after him into the darkness, she hadn’t expected him to offer marriage, hadn’t expected more than just this moment together. But this—oh, this was so much worse! Because he didn’t want to marry her because he loved her.
He wanted to marry her only because she was an obligation.
“No…you’re going to America,” she reminded him softly. Marrying Quinton only to put an ocean between them—once she’d wanted exactly that, but now she couldn’t have borne it. “You promised your father.”
“I promised my father that I would make a good life for myself, that I would make him proud. I can do that right here. With you.” His eyes turned solemn. “I need you, Belle, I know that now. And you need me.”
How much pride it must have cost him to admit that! But need wasn’t love.
Summoning all the strength she possessed, she forced herself to remain on her feet despite the legs beneath her that had gone numb and weak. Somehow she found the determination to keep breathing as she forced out, “That offer no longer stands.”
He frowned, searching her face. “Pardon?”
“That marriage proposal I made to you—I’m taking it back.” She choked down a sob, thankful that the shadows hid her face and glistening eyes. She’d never felt more alone or more helpless in her life, yet she was doing the right thing for her heart. The pain she felt now at rejecting him would be nothing compared to a lifetime of marriage without his love. “I won’t marry you.”
“Yes, you will.” His eyes flared brightly with frustration. “Marrying is good for both of us, Belle. And it solves your problem.”
It solved nothing. Because now she wanted everything—Quinn’s heart, his laughter, his grins, a home and family they’d make together…his love.
If she couldn’t have that, then she’d rather have nothing at all. Living with the specter of what she might have had if he loved her would be unbearable.
“I’ve made my decision.” All of her shook with the effort of holding back her tears. Her frustration and humiliation. Her anguish. “I won’t marry you, Quinton.”
“Annabelle!” Her name echoed through the darkness as Lady Ainsley called for her from the house, shattering the cocoon of quiet shadows around them. “Annabelle, it’s time!”
A dark desolation blackened her insides. Time. It had finally run out for her.
She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t let go.
“We haven’t settled this,” he bit out.
Her heart tore. Still no admission of love…She blinked rapidly as the hot tears stung her eyes. “Yes, we have.”
She tugged again, and this time, her fingers slipped free.
Leaving him behind in the ruins, she ran down the path and across the lawn, through the dark night toward the house, where Lady Ainsley stood on the terrace waiting for her.
When she saw Belle hurrying toward her, she held out her hands. “It’s midnight! You have to make your announcement.” Taking both of Belle’s hands in hers, she looked past her to search the dark night. She stiffened, a troubled frown creasing her brow. “Where’s Quinton? Isn’t he with you?”
Belle shook her head, unable to stop a silent tear from sliding down her cheek.
Lady Ainsley’s face fell. “But I’d thought when you both left the party—I thought for certain he would…” She lowered her voice to whisper the hope Belle knew she’d been keeping secret since she invited Quinton to Glenarvon. Perhaps for six years before that. “Ask you to marry him.”
An excruciating pain pierced her. “I’m not marrying Quinton,” she rasped out, her lips so numb that she had no idea how they were able form the words.
Deep sadness distorted the viscountess’s wrinkled features. “No?”
“Quinton and I would never have suited.” She forced a smile through her tears, even in the midst of her own anguish wanting only to comfort the woman who had been a second mother to her. “We want different things in a marriage.”
He wanted to ease his guilt, while she wanted love…or they would prefer never to marry at all. After tonight, they would both get that last wish, at least.
“I’m all right, my lady.” When that didn’t seem to cheer Lady Ainsley, Belle placed a kiss to her cheek and squeezed her hands to cover the lie. “Truly.”
“What will you do about Glenarvon?” Lady Ainsley asked, an expression of grief and regret so raw on her face that Belle felt her heart tear anew, this time for the viscountess.
“What I should have done all along,” she answered in a trembling voice.
“My lady?” Ferguson appeared in the doorway. As Master of Ceremonies, it was his duty to keep the party on schedule. “Midnight has arrived.”
Lady Ainsley wiped her hand at her eyes. “Of course.”
Both women linked arms and walked slowly inside the house, where the crowd of guests were waiting expectantly for the announcement. Including Sir Harold, who snatched two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing footman and started across the room toward Belle, beaming a smile. He was oblivious to the pain inside her as Ferguson called for the musicians to stop playing.
With the attention of the room on her, Belle inhaled a deep breath. She’d made her decision, and it was for the best. But where there should have been relief that the agony of the past few weeks was finally over, there was only unbearable grief.
“I asked you all to be here tonight because—” She fisted her hands at her sides, so tight that her fingernails dug into her palms. She welcomed that physical pain because it countered the emotional torment inside her. “Because I wanted to announce that I would be…marrying next week, in time for my birthday. I wanted to share with you the name of the man I’d chosen to be my husband.” She forced down her misery. “And master of Castle Glenarvon.”
Soft murmurs and whispers rose throughout the room. Sir Harold proudly stuck out his chest as he arrived at her side. But Belle stepped away, unable to endure being next to him when she announced her decision. She pressed a clenched fist to her chest, as if she could physically push back against the fierce tattoo of her broken heart.
“And so I’ve decided…” The room spun around her, the heat suffocating and the stench of candle smoke dizzying. More whispers, this time louder and more anxious. Her heart pounded so hard that the rush of blood in her ears was deafening. How could the foolish thing keep beating like this, when it had already shattered into a thousand pieces of glass? “I’ve decided…”
“She’s decided on a husband,” a deep voice announced loudly from across the crowded ballroom.
Quinton. He strode confidently into the room with the determination of a man resigned to his fate. Bare-necked, with mussed hair falling rakishly over his forehead, he embodied every bit of the scoundrel his reputation avowed him to be. Belle couldn’t stop the shuddering desolation that descended upon her as she stared at him.
“She’s marrying me,” he stated with such resolve that everyone in the room fell into stunned silence.
Then bewildered whispers arose, followed by scattered applause and puzzled congratulations. And a happy cry from Lady Ainsley so loud that it echoed through the house.
In the momentary confusion, guests craned their necks to stare at Quinton and at Belle—and at Sir Harold, whose face turned scarlet. Spinning on his heel, he stalked from the house. When he reached the stone terrace, he threw the champagne glasses into the wall, shattering both in a hail of shimmering crystal and bubbles.
Quinton’s blue eyes trained on her, blazing for battle as he stalked across the crowded room toward her.
She jerked her arm away when Quinton reached to take it. As she backed away from him, she shook her head.
“I’ve made my decision.” Taking a deep breath, she announced as firmly and loudly as all her strength allowed, “I’m not marrying anyone.”