Confessions of a Little Black Gown (30 page)

She leaned forward, caught his face with her soft hands, and put her lips to his.

Sealing his offer with her kiss.

The moment her lips touched his, Larken was undone. Lost again. How did she do this? Awaken his body and his heart in this thunderous need for her?

He pulled her close, gathering her into his arms and plundering her lips hungrily. He wasn’t going to let her go, ever. Even though his heart knew now, she was his. Always.

His tongue swept past her lips and tasted her, danced with hers. She was ripe and willing, as eager as he was to enflame that spark between them into a bonfire of passion.

He kissed her, then let his lips explore her neck, her earlobe, the pulse at her throat, downward to the edge of her bodice.

His other hand was working its way upward, pulling her hem along even as his hands trailed over the lithe, long line of her legs, up over her hips, towing her dress up and over her head.

She shivered, but not, he thought from a chill, rather in anticipation of what was to come. Larken looked down at her lush, willing body and ached to be inside her, joined with her, seeing her find her release as he stroked her.

He bent down and buried his face in her neck, kissing her, moving down, plying the straps of her chemise from her shoulders so he could free her breasts, his hand cupping one while his lips took the ripe tip in his mouth like a berry, sucking it until he heard the deep throaty sigh that escaped her lips, felt her hips arch upward.

Already hard, he was breathless from her eager response. Picking her up, he held her for a moment in his arms, before carrying her to the soft, thick grass that grew in the middle of the folly, and there he laid her down, divesting himself quickly of his shirt, boots and breeches.

She reached for him, pulled him to her, her legs winding around his hips and her lips on his.

“Please, Larken, please…“she whispered breathlessly.

Her sensuous plea nearly left him undone, and he’d barely begun.

Tally lay back in the grass and watched Larken undress. It was like watching a marble statue come to life before her—the thick muscles of his arms and chest, the narrow taper of his waist to his slim hips, and then the corded muscles of his thighs.

And his manhood. His glorious length, long and hard and erect. Just for her. Hers for the taking.

But before she could touch him, before she could taste him, he’d dropped to his knees before her, a wicked smile on his lips. He took her foot in his hand and began to kiss her toes. She squealed with laughter, the delicious feeling running up her leg, even as his lips came higher and higher, kissing her, exploring the curve of her calves, soft turns of her thighs.

And then he was there, at her apex, his breath hot upon her sex and she could barely move, barely breathe, for his fingers brushed over her, parting the way so his lips could taste her.

“Whatever are you—” she began…
going to do
, she would have finished, but he was already there, kissing her, running his tongue over the tight nub, nuzzling her, exploring her.

“Oooh,” she gasped, her hips arching to meet him, meet this sweet torture. He ran his tongue over her in long, sweeping strokes, and all she could do was cling to his shoulders as her body began to tremble and quake.

He was going to carry her up there, take her over the edge with just his kiss, and then she did, come in a rush of heated desire.

“Larken, oh, demmit, Larken, that is so good,” she cried out.

He pulled her beneath him, laughing and kissing her anew, nuzzling her breasts, his fingers finding the spot his lips had tortured, and continued the waves of passion that rocked her until she could take no more.

“Oh, just kiss me,” she whispered, and he did, cra
dling her in his arms, stroking her hair. His touch claimed her, worshipped her and she wondered that anyone had ever felt so wonderful.

And as she gazed up into his eyes, she felt the dark desire there reignite her passion anew.

She moved like a cat, and rolled atop him, nuzzling and exploring him as he had her, right down to his manhood, and without hesitating, she ran her tongue over it, from the base right up to the tip, listening to the ragged groan that echoed from his chest.

“Woman, what are you trying to do to me?” he gasped, as she ran her mouth over him, loving the taste of him, the feel of him in her hands, the sense of power that came with pleasuring him as he had her—and the way it aroused her, bringing her right back to the same breathless, anxious place that begged to be filled.

She continued to suck on him, until he pulled her away, his eyes so dark, so smoky with need, she knew exactly what he wanted, and willingly she lay beneath him, her hands on his hips, and pulled him to her.

He entered her quickly, with a long, thick stroke that filled her.

Tally sighed at the pleasure of it, her legs winding around his hips, her body joining with his.

Larken paused and looked down at her. “You are mine. Now and always, you troublesome, scandalous minx.”

All she could do was grin back. He saw her as she’d always dreamt of being seen, as a scandalous woman, full of passion and desire.

And she was his. Now and always.

“Prove it,” she whispered back.

So he did, stroking her and bringing her to her release, even as he found his own, sealing their fate and binding them together always in an explosion of passion.

Long after the sun had set, Tally and Larken walked along the cool forest path back toward the house. They had made love until they were exhausted, eaten and drank from their picnic and then found the strength to make love one more time, gently and quietly in the soft twilight.

“I’m not the best man for you,” Larken said.

Tally’s footsteps faltered to a stop, hands going to her hips. Brutus pulled up as well, pausing beside her hem. “I think I’m the judge of that.” She paused and then grinned at him. “I find you quite perfect.”

He laughed and caught her hand and pulled her back along the path, Brutus happily following. “Truly though, I’ve done things—”

“Sssh,” was her quick reply. “Dwelling on the past will not serve us. You can’t change what you’ve done.”

“What would your Nanny Rana say about all this?” he teased.

She shook her head. “No, I think Nanny Tasha would serve us better. You must find peace with your past, she’d tell you. Fill your heart with new memories and discover the joys that are right before you.”

“Like you?”

“Like me,” she said with lofty confidence.

They had come to the point where the forest gave
way to the meadow and Hollindrake House rose before them like a great citadel.

Tally groaned. “She’ll insist on a grand wedding.”

“You don’t sound happy about that prospect,” he said.

“Not at all,” she declared. “For she’ll expect us to have banns and wait! Not that
she
did, but she’ll want at least one respectable marriage, and I daresay, mine is it.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” he asked. “I thought all ladies wanted—”

“Not me!” Tally protested. “Lord Larken, have you ever known me to want what is expected?”

He laughed. “No. Never. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Bringing her fingers to his lips, he kissed them. “So my future Lady Larken, what do you want?”

Her gaze drifted over toward the stables. “I’ve always fancied…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve always wanted…”

“You have but to ask, Tally, my love,” he told her.

Taking a deep breath, she made her wish. “Gretna. I want to be married in Gretna Green. I want to make a scandalous dash for the border, Felicity’s big Society wedding be damned.”

Larken needed no more urging, catching her by the hand and towing her toward the stables, where Aurora’s post-chaise still sat. As they ran toward it like a pair of wayward children, he said, “But when we return from Scotland, I expect you to tell your sister this was entirely your idea.”

Tally pulled to a stop. “Lord Larken, are you afraid of my sister?”

“Right down to the soles of my boots.”

She nodded in agreement and took a wary glance at the house. Really, besides being dark and dangerous and utterly handsome, he was downright intelligent. “Perhaps we can come home by way of Paris…”

“Buying you more time before you pay the piper?”

“Yes. And I’m sure, knowing my sister, by the time we return—in a good year or two—she’d be up to her neck in making matches—”

“Good matches,” they both said and laughed merrily as they stole away to make their perfect one complete.

Gretna Green, Scotland
A week later

T
ally and Larken had made it to the tiny Scottish hamlet on the border and after settling their purloined post-chaise with the innkeeper walked across the village square to the tiny church that served the runaways who sought hasty marriages.

The sennight of traveling had left them rumpled and tired, but Larken had never been as sure of anything in his life as he was about marrying the woman beside him. Their days together had only convinced him further how perfect she was for him.

They’d made love in rustic inns, argued once over something trifling until they had dissolved into mutual laughter over their stubborn natures, and discussed their plans for a fine future.

With their mutual skills and experience, Tally had
no doubt they would be able to secure a diplomatic posting. And Larken agreed—for not only that, with Temple and Hollindrake behind them, not even Pymm could stand in their way.

“One thing still troubles about all this,” Tally said, as they walked hand in hand.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Mr. Ryder. I mean the real Mr. Ryder. You didn’t…that is to say, you wouldn’t have…”

He glanced down at her. “You aren’t suggesting that I killed a vicar, are you?”

“Oh, no! Of course not,” she said hastily. Then after a moment, she added, “You didn’t, did you?”

“Bloody hell, of course not,” he sputtered, much to the chagrin of an old matron passing them.

Tally heaved a sigh. “That is a relief.” They walked a little bit farther and Larken bent over to pick a stray flower for her that was coming up beside the road. “Then whatever happened to him?”

Larken laughed. “If you must know, Templeton sent his batman, Elton, to delay the real Mr. Ryder’s arrival. I suppose he is arriving at Hollindrake House as we speak, full of apologies to your sister for his tardy appearance and giving her much delight over someone new to match.”

They both laughed and climbed the steps up to the church. A serving woman was coming down, bucket in one hand and a broom in another, obviously having just finished the morning cleaning. “Oh, don’t you look to be the happy and dearest of couples! And such a fine morning to be wed.”

“That it is, madame,” Larken said, doffing his hat to her.

“There’s a lovely couple in with the master right now being married, but I don’t think anyone would mind if you go right in and wait in the back of the church. Just swept it clean, I did.”

“Thank you very much,” Tally said. “Will the other ceremony take long?”

The lady laughed. “In a hurry, are we? Well, I was young once and know how it is. Just like the fine couple afore you. Anxious to be wed and off on their new life. And such a romantic pair those—met at an inn just last week, the poor wee dear lady having carriage trouble and the kind gentleman there offering to help her, take her along in his carriage. And what would you know, after a day together, he turned the carriage north and here they are. ’Tis a fine story, it is.” She paused and rubbed her nose with the back of her dirty hand. “And there I go, nattering on. And you two wantin’ to be married. Now in with you and mind the scraper, I just swept and don’t want any more of that mud tracked in.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Larken said, bowing to her and making great pains to scrape his boots to her exacting standards.

When they’d settled into a pew at the back, Tally suddenly sat bolt upright.

“Egads,” she gasped. “I cannot marry you!”

All the heads at the front of the church turned to gape at them, and Larken shook his head and waved his hand for them to continue.

He shot a glance over at the beautiful and lithe lady at his side, arching one brow like a question
mark. “Rather late to change your mind,” he whispered.

“Oh, I suppose so,” she said, but the furrow to her brow told another story.

He leaned over. “Out of curiosity, may I ask why this sudden change of heart?”

She turned to him, all earnest and as ruffled as a hen on a windy day. “I just realized that if I marry you, that will make Miss Browne my sister.”

He burst out laughing, much to the consternation of the couple being wed, the vicar and a witness, most likely the vicar’s wife. The good woman hissed a sharp, “
shush
” at him, and properly chided, he covered his mouth and nodded an apology to the crowd at the altar.

“While I can understand your dismay at gaining such an alliance with Miss Browne”—to which she interjected a sharp
harrumph
—“our marriage does give you the wonderful advantage, if I do so humbly say myself, of making me your husband.”

Now it was Tally’s turn to laugh, and there was another “
sssh
” from the front of the small church. “Well, when you put it that way,” she whispered. “You do have a way about you.” She tossed him that “look” that made his insides turn molten and his desire for her send any bit of good sense he possessed on an extended holiday.

He caught hold of her and kissed her. And this time they both ignored the “
sssh
” that followed.

When he was finished, he pulled away and looked down into her passion-filled eyes. “Does that make it better?”

“Almost,” she teased. “I think it will take some more convincing for the sting of such a relation to go away.”

And so he set to work convincing her some more, kissing her until he thought they’d set the church aflame.

With any luck, Larken mused as his lips teased hers to open for him, it would take a lifetime to finish this task.

So occupied with their kiss, so caught up with their mutual passion, they never heard the vicar pronounce the couple at the altar married, even though he intoned in a loud voice, “Miss DeFisser, it is my deepest honor to declare you married and to be known henceforth as Mrs. Milo Ryder. Sir, you may kiss your bride…”