Blake had been feeling as if the world was a bleak place.
Tara had been doing her best to be pleasing the past two days, and without the artifice of pretention. It was as if she truly wished to marry him.
But he saw through her now. She was lovely, a fine specimen of the female species . . . but he found he wanted more. He wanted a woman who spoke her own mind and understood that passion for anything had to be genuinely felt for it to matter.
But that wasn’t the woman he was going to marry.
Word had been passed around London about his Highland wedding. His cronies and Penevey had sent word that they would be present. The worst moment was when Blake had read in Penevey’s letter that Arthur would be his traveling companion. The time to cry off was past.
Blake should have let Tara run when she’d first bolted . . . and yet, if he had not given chase, he would not have met Aileen. He would not have learned that his heart was capable of being moved or that he, too, like every other mortal man, yearned for the connection only love for a woman could provide.
Life had been a shallow experience before he’d met Aileen. Meeting her had been like discovering another half of himself.
And when this was all over, he and Tara would return to London and the life that would have made sense to him two weeks ago.
The prospect filled him with emptiness.
And then the door to his room opened.
Aileen marched into his room and back into his life.
She shut the door. For a second, he feared he was conjuring her out of his imagination, and then she smiled. She rushed toward him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with the ferocity of a tigress.
He had no choice but to kiss her back. It was as if his dreams had come to life.
She felt good in his arms. She fit so well against him. She was soft and accommodating in the places he was hard—and he was hard.
Even the scent of her drove him to madness.
This kiss, the touch of her skin, and the taste of her tongue, tickling and teasing his, set his every nerve on edge. He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he did Aileen.
Still, when her hands tugged free the edge of his shirt from his breeches, when she began unbuttoning those breeches, Blake broke the kiss.
His breathing was labored and deep. His desire for her was very real and obvious between them. “Do you know what you are doing?” he asked.
A slow, knowledgeable smile curved her lips. She slid her hand between their two bodies. She placed her palm on the length of his erection pressing against his breeches.
Her boldness stole his breath. With what little sanity he had left, he demanded, “Why?”
She moved closer to him to press her lips against the line of his jaw. “Because there isn’t another man in the world like Mr. Stephens,” she whispered. “And I am in the mood to make you very happy.”
There comes a point for a man when blood can be in only one of two places—the big head or the little one. He can think, or he can react. He can’t do both.
Blake had hit that point. Did it matter what drove her? He wanted this woman, and he would have her.
He backed her onto the bed, the covers thoughtfully turned down by Jones. He attempted to finish unbuttoning his breeches, but his fingers were clumsy.
Thankfully, Aileen’s weren’t.
She helped, and he could finally spring free. He pulled her skirts up, tore at the thin lawn of her undergarments.
The heat of her against his fingers pushed him beyond reason. She had reached the same point. She did not shy away but offered herself to him.
Sweet, merciful heaven.
He could not wait another moment or he would disgrace himself. Blake lifted her legs with his forearms. She was completely at his mercy.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, meaning the words as he’d never meant them before.
“If you don’t do something right now,” she answered, reaching her arms out for him, “I shall scream in frustration.”
Blake heard himself laugh. She’d surprised him. And delighted him.
Her desire matched his. She was not afraid to demand action, and he felt himself a very lucky man.
With one strong thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.
For a moment, he went still, reveling in her heat, feeling her body stretch, encase and embrace him. This was more than just the primal need of a man for a woman. There was magic in this joining and a sense that, at long last, he’d found where he belonged. With her.
Beside her.
In her.
Her cry let him know he was exactly where she wanted him. And if he released, he knew she would be happy.
But he wanted to make this a moment that would never be forgotten. So he held himself tight, an act of unbelievable restraint, then slowly began moving inside her.
Aileen was a vocal lover. Her sighs and well-pleasured moues were the finest encouragement he’d ever received.
The heat between them built. He found he needed more. He no longer held her legs. She had wrapped them around his waist, holding him to her. He took her by the hips. His thrusts became bolder, more demanding. Her arms gripped his forearms. She was beautiful, she was magnificent, she was glorious. Together they moved toward the moment of completeness, toward fulfillment.
Conscious thought was beyond Blake’s ability. She had him. He was hers. He pushed and pushed, wanting, wanting, wanting—
In one shimmering moment, they were together, and then, in the next, he felt her go over the edge of release. She cried his name, his first name, half sob, half blessing. He pressed deep, reveling in the sensation. Her muscles clenched him, holding him.
No woman had ever given herself so completely, so generously to him—and he allowed himself to follow her. He was so rooted inside her that their bodies felt fused together.
Blake’s physical sense of being disintegrated, blending into her in a way he’d never experienced before. They were completely one, bound by a force stronger than any he could have imagined.
He clung to her, silently vowing never to let her go. She was his salvation, his purpose, his meaning, his life. For a man who had never felt as if he’d belonged anywhere, this was a gift.
Her arms held him just as tightly.
Blake wanted to hold this moment forever. But eventually, his heartbeat began to return to normal. He became aware of his surroundings and realized his breeches were around his knees and her dress up to her breasts. “If anyone walked in right now . . . ,” he started.
Instead of her being embarrassed, a smile lit her face. She placed her hand against his jaw. “They would know we had a good time,” she finished.
I love you, he wanted to say, but he held the words. Everyone professed love after what they’d just experienced.
He wanted that declaration to mean something to her when he said them, and a simple “I love you” would not be enough. For the first time in his life, he understood why men were moved to write poetry.
She ran her hand down the arm that still bore his weight over her. Her blue gray eyes looked up to him. “Would you like to undress completely . . . and perhaps try it again?”
Her suggestion had an immediate impact. He hardened. She had that complete power over him.
She’d noticed his reaction. She scooted back on the bed, her legs exposed to him. “I take that as an ‘aye,’ Mr. Stephens.”
“Oh, aye,” he assured her.
Aileen laughed and began loosening the laces of her dress, which was already hopelessly mussed. Blake didn’t waste time removing his own clothes. His boots were particularly stubborn, or was it that he was clumsy, with proof of his desire so evident?
She was already naked and pulling the pins from her hair. Seeing his difficulty, she set the pins on the table beside the bed and slid off the mattress to kneel before him. She grabbed the heel of his boot and pulled, almost falling over, to her delight.
Blake loved the sight of her breasts, with her hard pink nipples, bouncing with her laughter. She was so beautiful to him.
Yes, Tara had the perfection of a goddess . . . but Aileen was a woman, warm, caring, gracious. Her flaws were part of her charm, part of what made her unique and valuable to him.
He had to touch the shining mass of her hair, tangling his fingers in it. She dropped the boot in her hand and looked up at him.
“So lovely,” he whispered.
Her brows came together. “I’m not, Blake. Not if I stop and think about what we are doing with Tara close at hand.”
“She has no strong feeling for me, or I for her.”
“I know.”
“But I care about you,” he dared to say.
The sadness left her eyes. “I know that as well. You bought a horse.”
So his purchase of Folly had done the trick. “It was the only thing I could do that would have meaning for you.”
“It did, Blake.” She closed her eyes a moment, as if making a wish. When she opened them, there was a peace in their depths. “No one has ever cared enough for me to discover what truly holds meaning for me . . . but you did. I don’t know why events happen the way they do, but right now, I’ve never felt happier.”
And then, before he could answer, she leaned forward and kissed him in the most intimate ways a woman can a man.
All words were wiped from Blake’s mind as her kiss robbed him of sanity. And he realized words didn’t matter. She was right. What was between them was powerful. It defied explanation. Defining it would be futile.
But their actions . . . ? Ah, yes, the way they touched, the way they made love told them louder than mere words what they meant to each other.
And Blake was perfectly content to let her have her way with him . . . as long as he could happily return the favor.
Aileen was in love.
She didn’t leave his bed until the wee hours of the morning, before the servants stirred. Other than a few hours napping in Blake’s arms, she hadn’t slept. Who needed sleep when one was in love?
Her worries the day before for Tara evaporated. It was midday before she remembered the gossip about her sister that had driven her to return to Annefield. But now, the needs of her sister did not excite the same concern. Love had that ability. It insulated lovers from the daily fears of ordinary people. Or was it that love put those fears in their proper perspective?
And that night, after all had gone to bed, Aileen returned to Blake’s bed. He was waiting for her. Eagerly.
Making love to him made her feel whole. And so she went to him the next night, and the next.
The weight of time and regret that had at one time plagued her gave over to the wonder of being exactly where she should be.
Had she once prayed for peace? For her life to have meaning?
Her prayer was answered now. The twists and turns she’d made had been the only way she could have waved her way toward Blake Stephens.
One afternoon, she came across her journal. The last entry had been written shortly before Tara had arrived home.
Reading those words, Aileen could only smile. She took the journal to the kitchen and threw it into the fire.
“What is that?” Cook asked, obviously surprised by Aileen’s actions. Why should she not be? Aileen valued books.
“It is my past,” Aileen answered.
Cook smiled. “Ah, well, then it is a good thing to burn.”
“Aye, it is.”
Of course, Aileen didn’t mention love to Blake. He was not hers to love, something that, after their first few nights of slaking their lust for each other with wonderful sex, began to bother her.
Blake didn’t speak of a future for them. He seemed to keep his own counsel, although she knew he cared. She could tell by the way his touch lingered, as if she was something precious to him.
During the day, his gaze would often wander to meet hers, especially if something was said that he knew would amuse her. She cherished these moments as small gifts. For the first time, she understood what was possible in a loving relationship.
And they played chess. Hours and hours of it, when they weren’t making love. Blake had moved the chessboard and table up to his room. She doubted if Tara noticed it missing from the sitting room. Aileen couldn’t beat him at the game, although she tried mightily, and he praised her for it.
In fact, Tara seemed oblivious to the new companionship between her betrothed and her sister. They took great care to appear distant from each other during the day, but also Tara spent hours at the stables. Thinking of the rumors, Aileen made some discreet inquiries and learned that Mr. Jamerson had not been at Annefield since the week before.
Aileen also noticed that there had been no callers to Annefield. No locals with good wishes for a soon-to-be bride.
Of course, plans were being made for the wedding celebration, and Aileen was assuming Tara was making them. The wedding ceremony itself would be a small family affair, but there would be guests for the wedding breakfast. This celebration would not be as grand as what Aileen had heard had been planned for the wedding in London. Still, accommodations needed to be organized for the few guests who would be arriving for the event, especially since one of them would be a duke.
The earl couldn’t be called upon to do anything. He hadn’t returned home since he’d gone after the widow Bossley four nights earlier. His absence made Aileen’s trips to Blake’s room easier.
Blake and Aileen did not talk about the wedding. She sat beside Tara, with Blake on Tara’s other side, as their banns were read a second time. There was no third reading of the banns for Miss Sawyer and Mr. Jamerson. Nor was the couple in church.
Aileen wondered what Tara thought, but she did not ask her. Indeed, the two sisters rarely spoke to each other.
That night, in bed, was the first time either Aileen or Blake mentioned Tara.
They lay entwined in each other’s arms. Aileen’s head rested on his chest. He’d propped several feather pillows behind him, and she was very comfortable. She enjoyed snuggling bare skin to bare skin with him.
He had a loose arm around her waist. Sometimes they read books like this. Other times they just talked. So far, to Aileen’s knowledge, the servants didn’t know of their liaison, although occasionally she noticed a speculative glance.
Was she sensitive to her past and what they might say?
She tried not to think on it.
“I wish to talk to your sister about us,” Blake said. “I must stop this farce of a wedding before it goes further.”
Aileen raised her head to look him in the eye. “What are you going to say?”
“I will ask her to release me from my offer. Honorably.”
“Why?” Aileen asked, knowing in her heart the reason. She’d known when she’d heard he had purchased Folly . . . but she wanted to hear him say it.
He tightened his hold on her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I will not speak, not yet. I am not free to do so. I know you well, Aileen, and I believe you know me with the same understanding. Let me talk to your sister.”
“May I be there?”
“I don’t believe that wise. You have nurtured her a good portion of your life. The decision she has to make must be hers alone. You must step back.”
“But what if she refuses to release you from your marriage offer?”
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
She did not know the answer.
For a long moment they studied each other, and then she leaned forward and kissed his eyelids, his nose, and the curve of his mouth as it stretched into a smile of anticipation.
“Don’t think on it,” she whispered. “Not now. Not yet.”
His response was to roll over on the bed, his weight on top of her, and love her until she was senseless.