Her Husband’s Lover (22 page)

‘Who are you, by the way?’ He leaned forward, cocking his head so that she thought he intended to return the kiss.

Emma squealed, causing him to step back and straighten up immediately. At that moment two other figures came hurtling around the corner.

‘Ned?’

‘Did somebody just scream?’ Mr Hill asked. ‘Is there a problem?’ He scratched at his mop of grey-white hair.

Darleston … her father! Emma shook free of Ned Darleston’s hold and fled away from all three men as fast as she could. She ran through the study and left the house by the French doors.

Tears blinded her flight, but she didn’t stop running until she’d crossed the lawn and forced her way into the abandoned dovecote. There, in the inky shadows, away from the harsh sun and the censure of the men, she stopped and pressed her brow to the cold bricks.

What an absolute ninny she was. How ridiculous to put herself through all that mither only to kiss the wrong man. She even recalled Darleston telling her that he had a brother. Although he hadn’t stated that his brother was also his identical twin.

The dovecote door creaked open behind her. A slash of daylight penetrated the gloom, but only for a moment, before Darleston ducked low and entered. ‘You’re not the first to make that mistake. I probably ought to have warned you, only I hadn’t anticipated you kissing him.’

‘Your twin.’ She cast a swift glance at him over her shoulder before returning her gaze to the wall. Of all the imbecile things she could have done. She gave her lips a surreptitious rub with the back of her hand. ‘He told you, I suppose. So Father knows.’ Amelia’s interference wouldn’t make any difference now.

Darleston stole a little closer. ‘Neddy didn’t give you away. That was purely my guess based on your reaction. I’m only sorry that my brother gained what I desired.’

‘You desire it.’ She turned and gawped at him with her back pressed tight to the wall. Her fingernails scraped at the spongy moss growing in the cracks between the stones.

‘Emma, you know I do. I wonder if, perhaps, you’ll find the nerve to do it again. What do you think are my chances – good, even … poor?’ The last word was delivered with a worried frown.

Why was it that the sensation of his lips pressing against her inner wrist and forearm permeated every word he spoke, even when he stood several feet away?

Emma hiccoughed. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve made a mess of everything. First Amelia saw me and made all manner of assumptions and now I’ve kissed your brother and Father is probably wondering what the devil is happening.’

‘Don’t worry. Neddy’s explaining. He told Hill that he’d come up behind you too quietly and startled you. I volunteered to check you were all right.’ He’d inched towards her as he spoke so that he stood as close to her now as he had in the amphitheatre. Only, unlike on that occasion, when he reached out to her Emma didn’t flee. She swallowed the lump in her throat and braced herself for the contact.

The pad of his thumb brushed her cheek, then spread the salty wetness of her tears over her lips, leaving them tingling. He kept looking at her mouth, looking and looking and looking until she tilted her head and her gaze began to follow a pattern of sliding back and forth between his grey eyes and his lips. Any moment he would lean forward and claim her. The mere notion threaded her veins with fire. This might be what she wanted but it didn’t in any way make it easy. ‘Kiss me,’ she said, straining upwards so that she was balanced on tiptoes. ‘Do it quickly.’ She closed her eyes to await that magical event.

‘Don’t you want to savour the moment a little longer?’

Emma’s eyes snapped open, only for him to lean forward and claim her in that instant. This was not at all like the impromptu kiss she’d given his brother. That had been rushed and – she realised it now – too forceful. This was softer, lighter. Each brush sent tremors of pleasure racing down her throat and through her breasts. It was something to savour and cry for. If there had not been a wall at her back she would have fallen. Her knees buckled when he drew back a fraction, but Darleston held her steady.

His clothing was soft beneath her fingertips, his warmth compelling. She didn’t want this moment to end. When he drew back, she boldly rekindled their kiss.

This second kiss was different from the first. He held back less, was more exploring, less tentative. Ever since that first time when she’d glimpsed him through the library window she’d wanted to rub up against him. The way he cradled her in his arms meant she could do just that, curling her hands around his lapels, while his tongue darted against hers. Back and forth, give and take, with more of his body pressing up against her as each moment passed, until she was completely trapped, sandwiched between the brickwork and his chest, with the hard ridge of his cock branding her hip.

‘Will you allow me to touch you again? As I did in the Dog Parlour?’

Darleston sucked in a hasty breath. ‘I was rather hoping for a more mutually satisfying arrangement.’ She leaned into his chest and her lips fluttered over the topmost button of his waistcoat. ‘Very well,’ he agreed, ‘but a little differently, I think.’ Then, slowly, he backed away from her, shrugging off his exquisite coat as he moved. He stopped when his back hit the opposite side of the circular dovecote, whereupon he dropped his coat and started upon the row of mother-of-pearl buttons on his waistcoat. Once that had come off, it was a simple matter to release his frontfall, unwind his cravat and pull his shirt over his head.

Of course she’d seen him naked before, but this was different. This time he’d undressed for her in broad daylight, although one might imagine it otherwise in the gloom of the tiny chamber. She would not have dared expose herself in such a way. Nakedness seemed trebly obscene at this early hour, with no bed anywhere about.

Emma gawped at him with her mouth hanging open. In many ways his body mimicked Lyle’s. They were both possessed of a lean, wiry frame, but Darleston was longer. Freckles covered much of his arms. He also possessed that curious raised mark upon the right side of his abdomen, stretching from just below his navel to a point just above his hip. In the excitement of last night it had passed unnoticed; now that imperfection seemed to call to her.

Slowly, she padded towards him, her arms partially outstretched. Closer to, she was not sure if the mark was a scar or a brand. Almost without thought she traced a finger over its silvery surface. ‘What happened?’

He shook his head and moved her hand from the mark to his chest. ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’

So he had his secrets too.

He might not wish it, but Emma couldn’t quite shake off her curiosity. It seemed there was almost a pattern to it, as though he’d been stamped. Darleston curled a finger and lifted her chin. ‘You claimed you wanted to touch me. Well, now I’m all yours. Anywhere you like, as hard or soft as you like. Use your mouth, your fingers, the tip of the feather you have in your hair …’ He hesitated a moment while he plucked a grey feather from her cascading locks, then blew it away. ‘On second thoughts, I’m rather ticklish.’

Ticklish. For a moment she pictured him writhing, laughing as he fought off her hands just as Bea … no, not Bea, but Eliza – who had died before Bea had even arrived in the world – had done.

Emma stiffened, then immediately forced her shoulders to relax. She refused to sink into the past. She wouldn’t let the ghosts isolate her any more. Darleston was her chance to live, and she was damn well going to take it.

She leaned into him once more, her nose pressed to his skin and her lips closed around the furled peak of one of his nipples. She sucked upon it while she let her hands rove across his body. He was not as smooth as he first appeared, for in several places grew patches of soft springy golden hair, the most prominent, she knew from past experience, being the one around the base of his cock. The moment she thought of it, she knew she wanted to touch him there. Her gaze wandered downwards, but she paused. Darleston nudged her in that direction. ‘Let’s not pretend you’re unfamiliar with it.’

Emma curled her fingers around the shaft. She had held him while he slid back and forth into her husband’s arse– how could she feign shyness now? She stroked upwards, cupped her palm over the vibrant tip and listened in delight as his sighs became mews and then moans.

All too soon his cock began to weep. Then she knew what she wanted. Without looking down, Emma sank to her knees. Darleston’s cock curved upright before her, pressing tight against his stomach. He groaned when she opened her mouth. ‘Holy saints, Emma.’ Groaned again as she did what she’d previously watched Lyle do.

He tasted of salt and musk. Smelled of it too.

As she sucked harder, his hands groped at the brickwork behind him, seeking further purchase, but she knew right away that she did not want him to spill in her mouth. Rather she wanted him as she’d originally envisaged, lying flat as he had been in the Dog Parlour. That way she could straddle him and rub her puss up against his rampant cock, finally obtain some of that pleasure that was constantly being dangled before her.

If only they had a blanket, but all they had to cover the scuffed and pitted floor was Darleston’s coat, an item too beautiful to contemplate crushing and messing with dirt.

Frustrated, she drew back and tore at her arms, lacerating the skin with rows of parallel scratches.

‘Emma!’ Darleston caught her. He clasped her hands tight in his curled fists. ‘What is it? Talk to me. Why?’ He stared at the marks upon her skin in deep concern.

‘I wanted you,’ she blurted. ‘Properly, as a man might take a woman. But I can’t. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I can –’ Her words broke off as he cupped the swell of one of her breasts so that her nipple lay taut against the centre of his palm. ‘Oh!’

His irises were no longer quite so pale in hue, but had darkened to the colour of wet slate. Grey, shot with lilac, so enticing, so compelling. It was hard to stand still as he touched her. Hard to let his fingers walk upwards and pluck out the pins holding the front of her dress in place.

‘I have to see,’ he said, head dipped forward to compensate for the dismal light. ‘You know a dovecote is hardly an ideal location.’ His humour went a little way to relieve her tension. ‘The other thing you have to understand is that I’m not an ornament. I can’t stand idle and let you polish me. The true pleasure in sex comes from sharing it with somebody.’

Emma’s pulse beat a rapid tattoo against her temple as he worked open the front fastenings of her stays. She didn’t spill from the confinement, though she certainly felt the air rush into her lungs, allowing her to take deeper breaths. His hand worked inside her stays. He cupped the swell of her breast again, only this time the contact was like a scald, too hot, too intense. She wriggled, trying to escape its intensity, even as he captured a nipple and caused desire to blossom deep within her womb.

‘Steady now. You’re not going to bolt, are you?’ She did glance towards the door, but then shook her head as her hands found anchorage amongst the moss-covered stones at her back. ‘Good. Then let’s make things a little easier.’ He unfastened more of her clothing, so that her dress hung open around her waist and her stays were opened almost to her navel. Her breasts filled both his palms. Darleston crushed them together and his breath whispered across their surface before he buried his nose in the crevice between them. Next came the press of his lips, trailing kisses that culminated in his taking one nipple into his mouth.

He was only doing to her what she had done to him.

The sweet sensation came as a shock. Her own explorations had made her realise that she was sensitive there. Pleasure was to be had by repetitive circling of the tip, squeezing a little, tugging upon it. None of that had quite prepared her for what Darleston was doing with his tongue.

‘Good?’ he asked when he paused briefly to take a deeper breath. Between breathlessness and the fluttering of her heart, Emma couldn’t voice a reply.

‘Let me show you more.’ He trailed kisses up the side of her neck, lingering for a long time over her pulse point.

The heat in Emma’s womb grew more insistent, so that she rocked her hips, and angled herself so that she bumped against his loins. She forgot her fears, and forgot the past.

Darleston’s feet crushed his coat. He paid it no regard. His attention remained entirely upon her. To Emma’s dismay, he did not return immediately to her breasts but stood looking at her for several long moments. Finally, he tucked behind her ear a stray lock of hair that had escaped her chignon. Then he clasped one of her hands and tore it away from the security of the wall.

‘Touch me again. Give and take, remember?’ He turned her palm, positioned it over the swell of his cock. His eyes closed briefly at the contact and the tip of his tongue brushed his upper lip. He didn’t make a sound, but she could sense his pleasure. It was a bone-deep ache, a mixture of longing and frustration, like an itch that had to be scratched.

His hand strayed down to her thigh. Slowly, he began to hitch her skirts, exposing first her ankles and calves, then her knees and her garters and stocking-tops. He released her skirt at that point, let the fabric fold over his arm, while his hand made contact with the bare skin of her thigh.

The urge to bolt reared again, but she suppressed it.

Unhurriedly, maintaining eye-contact with her all the time, Darleston moved higher. Then one finger stroked upwards along the split of her quim, feather-light but sweet enough to have her rearing onto her toes.

He leaned in and possessed her mouth again, while wet, slick evidence of her arousal coated his questing fingers. He found her nub and the intensity of that first touch struck her so sharply that for a moment she feared for her sanity. He seemed to know how to drive every sensible thought from her head, leaving behind only the desire to couple with him.

Yes. That was it. That was what she wanted. She stroked him, so that the head of his cock drove repeatedly through the ring of her fingers, hoping, praying that somehow he would understand what it was she needed from him, but to her surprise he did not lift her or slide her onto his shaft. Instead, he fell to his knees and set his tongue to work, flicking back and forth over her ripe little nubbin.