Andrea Kane (41 page)

“No.” She shook her head, reached up to caress his shoulders, the nape of his neck, her palms gliding down over his taut biceps. Every one of his muscles was rigid, rippling with tension, and his body radiated a fierce, unmistakable heat that, despite her innocence, Noelle recognized and knew just how to assuage. “I don’t want to rest,” she demurred, her thumbs teasing his nipples.

“Noelle, don’t.” He was shuddering, fiercely aroused, fighting for control.

“I heed that particular plea about as well as you do,” she informed him, her fingers moving down his abdomen, then lower, finding and caressing his pulsing erection.

“God.” Inadvertently, he thrust against her hand. “Sweetheart, don’t.
Don’t
.” Another thrust. “You’re sore. And I have to get you home. I …” His protest ended on a strangled groan.

“Not that sore. And no you don’t. Not yet.” She explored his masculine shape and texture, rigid yet so smooth, steel sheathed in satin. He was huge, damp, throbbing with his need for her. “You’re magnificent,” she whispered.

Ashford swore under his breath. “How much time do we have?” he muttered thickly, moving to increase the exquisite friction as her fingers curled around him.

“Chloe’s window will be open until the first rays of dawn.” Her fingers stroked his velvety tip, absorbed the droplets of fluid he couldn’t suppress. “It’s still quite dark outside. And the sun rises so late at this time of year. We have at least three hours.”

“Three … hours …” Another violent shudder, and he began moving reflexively against her palm, fighting the urge to relinquish his self-control and plunge deep inside her.

The war was lost the instant she raised her hips, teased him with the irresistible allure of her lower body.

“You make me insane,” he growled, dragging her hand away, kneeing her thighs apart with his own. “You’re too damned sore for this. I should wait. Hell, I should have waited altogether—for our wedding night.” He entered her slowly, stretching her sensitive passage one glorious inch at a time. “But, God, Noelle, I lose all reason, all control, all ability to think around you.” He threw back his head, gritting his teeth as she closed around him, hot, wet, still quivering with the tiny aftershocks of her climax.

Noelle cried out, in ecstasy not pain, and lifted her knees to take him deeper. “Ashford …” Unbelievably, her body jolted back to life, her entire being converging around him, her lingering spasms clasping his full length, tantalizing him beyond endurance.

“Damn.” His control shattered, and he hooked his arms beneath her knees, opened her totally to his possession, and buried himself inside her. “Sweetheart, forgive me …” he rasped, pounding into her with the full force of his need. “God, Noelle.” He was lost in sensation, his handsome features contorted as he drove helplessly for fulfillment.

Wrapping her arms about him, Noelle met his every thrust, her heart touched as deeply as her body, her soul sharing his unfathomable, bottomless need, the overwhelming emotion that inspired it.

They reached the peak together, Noelle gasping out Ashford’s name, contracting fiercely all around him as he erupted, drove—inconceivably—farther into her, flooded the mouth of her womb with his seed.

They dropped onto the cushions, drenched and spent, their hearts hammering as one.

The dark haze of sensation hovered languidly around them, wrapping them in a timeless and enveloping aftermath.

This time, it was Noelle who stirred first.

She turned her face into Ashford’s neck, feeling tears of emotion well up in her eyes, trickle down her cheeks.

Ashford tensed, his head coming up the instant he felt the moisture against his skin. “I hurt you.”

“No.” Noelle shook her head, adamantly refuting his claim. “Oh, no.”

“Then why are you crying?”

She gazed up at him, her heart in her eyes. “Because I love you,” she whispered. “So very, very much.”

Ashford went still. His gaze darkened, delved deep into hers. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said hoarsely, capturing her tears with his thumbs. “To have children with you. To grow old with you.” He framed her face between his palms, brushed her lips with his. “I love you,
tempête.
Never forget that. Tonight is only the beginning.”

Tonight is only the beginning.

Those words replayed themselves in Noelle’s mind, over and over—as did everything else that had accompanied them—throughout the next morning, until the new day was well under way.

Curled next to Tempest on the ledge of the sitting-room window, Noelle sipped at her tea, watching the sun climb higher into the sky, yet seeing nothing but last night. The sensual discovery, the baring of secrets, the incomparable feeling of oneness. It was all part of an extraordinary dream that Noelle would treasure forever, relive again and again.

She shifted her weight—and winced a bit. Despite the long bath she’d taken before breakfast, her body ached in places she hadn’t known existed, and her muscles felt weak and watery. Not to mention her head, which throbbed from a scant two hours’ sleep, and her eyes, which burned with fatigue.

Nonetheless, she’d never felt better in all her life.

She smiled, taking another sip of the warm liquid, leaning her head against the wood frame defining the windowsill. A month. That was all the time Ashford intended to wait. He’d made that quite clear, regardless of how much there was to do.

And how much there was yet to resolve.

Noelle’s smiled faded and, realistically, she contemplated the complications that remained to be faced. First and foremost, Ashford had to officially ask her father for her hand. Somehow she didn’t anticipate that to be either a problem or a surprise. Both her parents knew how deeply in love with Ashford she was. And, plans or not, they wanted her happiness above all else. So she suspected—and hoped—that her father would grant them his permission and his blessing, and that by midday her betrothal to Ashford would be a fait accompli.

Then there were the remaining details of his past Ashford had yet to relate to her—details that needed to be divulged and understood before she and Ashford could store away his secret forever. That conversation would take time—as usual, she had a wealth of unanswered questions—but it was nothing the two of them couldn’t surmount.

Baricci.

He was the biggest obstacle impeding their future. Until they found a way to implicate him, ensure he was convicted for the felon he was, neither she nor Ashford could truly be free of their pasts. The truth was that both of them, each in his or her own way, had a score to settle with Franco Baricci. And until that score was settled, there could be no sense of completion, no true severing of the ghosts that once were.

So implicate him they would.

Noelle’s smile reappeared, curved her lips in private recall. Nothing, not even thoughts of Baricci, could mar the glorious aftermath of last night. No obstacles, no loose ends, could alter the unequivocal facts, the essential truth.

She belonged to Ashford now. And he belonged to her.

“Noelle!” Chloe came up behind her, hissing in her ear, and making her start. “You haven’t told me anything since you crawled through my window at dawn. I’m not trying to pry, but surely you can share something with me, especially since I nearly died of worry. You got home less than twenty minutes before the servants arose. I had visions of Papa riding across our front lawn on a mighty steed and driving Ashford through.”

With a burst of laughter, Noelle swung around and ruffled her sister’s hair. “Your imagination gets more colorful every day. I’m sorry to disappoint you; there will be no steeds, no swords, not even a tiresome old duel.” She made a face. “But I did time it a bit close, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did.”

Noelle felt a surge of warmth as she gazed into Chloe’s eager face. “The night was wonderful. Perfect. Thanks to you. Have I told you how grateful I am for your help? Without it, none of this would have been possible. Either that, or both Ashford and I would probably have been driven through by Papa’s wrath alone, much less his sword.”

Chloe made an impatient sound. “Then you rescued Ashford from whatever situation he got himself into?”

“Yes. And, believe me, the situation was nearly as dire as the scene you just described. I was positively heroic,” Noelle teased her. Seeing the expectant flicker in Chloe’s eyes, she leaned forward, until her face was practically touching her sister’s. “I will tell you one thing—and you’re absolutely the first to know. Ashford is due here any minute. He’s going to ask Papa for my hand in marriage.”

Jubilation erupted on Chloe’s face. “Oh, Noelle, I’m so happy for you!” She hugged her sister. “I can’t believe it. My sister’s going to be a wife.”

“Sh-h-h.” Noelle tempered Chloe’s enthusiasm by pressing a forefinger to her lips. “Papa can’t know Ashford’s already asked me, or he’ll demand to know when it happened. And in this case, honesty would not be a wise choice. It would only result in causing Papa pain. I’m not sure that reasoning makes sense—either to you or to me. I only know that Papa is always trying to protect me, and that this is one time I must protect him.”

Sagely, Chloe nodded. “I agree.”

“Here you are.” Brigitte strolled into the sitting room, smiling at her daughters. “I should have guessed you’d be sharing the sunlight with Tempest.” Her gaze settled on Noelle. “Have you been here since breakfast?”

“Yes, Mama.” Noelle inclined her head. “Why? Were you looking for me?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Brigitte walked over, gave Chloe a tender hug. “Darling, I need to speak with your sister alone for a minute—just to go over a few final details pertaining to the Season. Would you excuse us?”

“Of course.” Chloe shot Noelle a look. Their mother’s request to speak to Noelle in private was unusual. Still, she looked to be in good spirits, certainly not accusing or angry. Hence, her request was probably nothing more than what it appeared to be: routine and unrelated to last night’s adventure.

“I’ll finish the novel I was reading,” Chloe offered, heading for the door.

Brigitte waited until Chloe had gone. Then she shut the door, crossing back over to where Noelle sat.

“You look tired,” Brigitte said gently, touching the circles beneath Noelle’s eyes. “I assume you didn’t get much sleep.”

“Actually, no.” Noelle shifted, studying her mother’s face, instinct sending off warning bells in her head.

“Nor did I,” Brigitte confessed. “In fact, I was unusually restless. At first I couldn’t figure out why. I was certainly tired enough; the trip from Dorsetshire, the days of unpacking. Still, I couldn’t seem to stay asleep for more than a few fitful hours. I arose before dawn and went to the kitchen to make myself a pot of tea. I drank a cup right there, gazing outside and watching the sunrise over the rear portion of the grounds.”

Noelle lowered her head, knowing full well what her mother was telling her. “You saw me,” she stated quietly, wondering what she could possibly say to ease the hurt. She couldn’t say she regretted what had happened, not when it had been the most wonderful night of her life. Nor would she lie about what had occurred—not given the special and honest rapport she and her mother had always shared. So what was left?

“Noelle.” Brigitte raised her daughter’s chin, met her gaze. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, Mama.” Noelle swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m so much more than all right.”

There were tears gathered in Brigitte’s eyes, but no censure. “The night was all you hoped it would be?”

“More than I ever dreamed,” Noelle whispered.

“And the secrets standing between you … ?”

“Are completely gone.”

Brigitte nodded; “I knew they would be.”

“Mama …” Noelle bit her lip, struggling to find words that would set things right. “I love you and Papa so much. I’d never, ever hurt you. But …”

“But you love Ashford, too,” Brigitte finished for her, joy and understanding shining through her tears. “Which is how it should be.” She took her daughter’s hands in hers. “Love is nothing to apologize for, Noelle,” she added quietly. “It’s what Papa and I have always hoped and prayed you would find. And expressing it can be the most miraculous experience on earth—one that occurs with a wonder and a will all its own.”

Seeing the stunned look on Noelle’s face, Brigitte found herself smiling. “I might be your mother, darling, but I’m also a woman. And that incredibly handsome man who guards you like a ferocious bear safeguarding his cub is, amazingly, not only your father, but a man. We’ve known the wonder of falling in love.”

Noelle’s eyes widened. “Papa knows that I—?”

“No.” Brigitte gave an adamant shake of her head. “He’s not
that
open-minded. He’d lock you in your room and shoot Ashford dead. No, this is one secret I suggest we keep between us.”

They dissolved into laughter, and Noelle flung her arms around her mother, hugged her tightly. “Oh, Mama, it was magic. Ashford was tender and romantic, and—and he’s asked me to marry him,” she blurted out in a hushed whisper. “He’ll be coming by this morning to speak to Papa.”

Brigitte shimmered with pleasure, her entire face glowing with the exuberance of a young girl. “Then I suggest we begin planning a wedding.”

They were deeply immersed in their plans, when Bladewell knocked on the sitting-room door.

“Pardon me, my lady, but there’s a gentleman here to see Lady Noelle. It’s—”

“Ashford.” Noelle didn’t wait to hear the rest. She dashed out of the room, nearly knocking Bladewell over in the process, raced down the hall—and collided in the entrance-way with André Sardo.

“My, my. I could get accustomed to such greetings,” André laughed, gripping Noelle’s waist and steadying her on her feet. “I’m delighted you’re so glad to see me.”

“André.” Even as she said his name, Noelle could hear the disappointment echo in her voice. But she couldn’t help it. Any more than she could help peering around him to see if anyone else was approaching the house.

The drive was deserted.

“Obviously, you were expecting someone else.”

Noelle started at the fierce undercurrent of anger she heard in André’s voice. Her gaze darted to his, confirming that he was, indeed, incensed.