Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8 (19 page)

When I touched his shaft, he sucked in a harsh breath. His cock was ready, hard, the smooth, silky skin damp with his essence, the drops he gave me as tribute to ease his way into my body. He braced his hand against the mattress, ensuring he wouldn’t fall onto me. I gazed at the stiff evidence of his desire for me and grasped him before working my hand along his length. Mine, all mine. Every bit.

Slowly, he lowered his body until my nipples grazed his chest, and he stopped. Moved, stimulating the already sensitive tips to almost unbearable sensations. “You feel more there, don’t you?”

“Yes.” My voice came out trembling. I wanted so much, but he’d taught me the exquisite pleasure to be gained in waiting. I would feel even more soon. “I feel you touching me.”

He lifted one hand that braced his body on the mattress and cupped a breast. That breathtaking display of strength, balanced on one hand only, his body steady above mine, might have surprised some of his enemies. But it didn’t surprise me. I had ample proof of his power. He took my nipple between thumb and forefinger, caressing it with almost unbearable tenderness, slowly increasing the pressure until I arched my body up towards him, trying to feel it all, take it all.

His low chuckle told me I wasn’t the only one affected here. With a swift, decisive movement he bent and sucked my nipple so that I cried out from the unexpectedness of the move. Retaining my hold on his cock, I used my other hand to clutch the back of his head, hold him there. He played, twisted his tongue around my sensitive flesh, tickled the very tip until I begged for mercy. He gave a devilish laugh and turned to the next one while his breath cooled on my skin.

He drew hard and let the nipple out of his mouth, then blew on it. I squirmed; he held me in place. “They’re more sensitive, aren’t they?” He hummed at it, his breath gusting across the tip he’d already stimulated to screaming point. I wondered if the nurses could hear me and decided I didn’t care. As long as I didn’t wake the children.

When he licked the underside of a breast, he activated a new area and invited it to join the riot taking part inside me. His hand slipped down my body, shaped my waist and cupped my hip before heading inexorably lower. His soft kisses on my stomach made me shudder, and he only paused at my cleft to tease, tickle my entrance with his finger, then slide around the opening without entering before delivering a long, slow kiss to my clitoris. Then my thighs, before he raised his head and met my gaze. I could hardly believe the level of eroticism from seeing my husband between my legs resting his chin on the curls that protected my mound.

The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. “Ready for me yet?”

“More than ready,” I managed. Barely. “I want you so much. Please, Richard.”

“I want you more,” he growled, and finally came up on his elbows and made his way back to me. His shaft pressed against my stomach, hard and needy, leaving a wet kiss behind when he lifted again and put a hand between us to guide himself into my waiting body.

The pause that followed went on too long. I gazed into his eyes, smiling, ready, but my smile faded as distress entered his blue gaze. “Richard? What is it?”

“Rose. I don’t know, I—I—”

The hesitation was so uncharacteristic of him that fear grazed my arousal. I reached up, grasped his forearms. “What is it?” For a moment, he didn’t speak. “Richard, please, you’re worrying me. Tell me.”

He groaned and swung off my body to lie next to me. He covered his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t understand.” With a savage gesture, he swept the sheets off his body so I could see him down to his knees.

His cock was no longer erect. It lay lax and at ease on his stomach, taunting me with its inactivity. But I couldn’t feel as bad as he did. I couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t give him any reason to doubt me or my love. I leaned up and over him, touching my lips to his in a gentle kiss.

He moved away. I followed, urging him back to face me. If he’d wanted, he could have wrenched away from me, but he did not. He gave a resigned sigh, dropped his arm and opened his eyes. Drenched in sorrow and confusion, he gazed at me. “I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry, Rose.”

“No. It could be any manner of things.” I searched my mind, frantically wondering what it could be. He was so close—I could almost see his shield forming, protection he’d used against the world for so long. Not against me. Never against me. “You’re tired, worried, maybe you wanted me too much.” That sounded good, and it would be something for him to think about, though I couldn’t entirely believe it myself. “You wanted and wanted, and then went over.”

“I didn’t come.” He shook his head. He looked so much younger like this, without his wig and furbelows, without the lace and the powder that made him so much a man of the world. Here he was himself, the essential Richard. “I wanted you, Rose, but something went awry. I don’t know what it was or why it happened.”

I rolled over him, lying on top of him so he couldn’t get away. My nipples were still furled and hard, a travesty, but I wouldn’t hide them. I remained wet, which no doubt dampened his thighs, but I wouldn’t hide that, either. He deserved honesty, and I wouldn’t stint in giving it to him. Within limits.

I couldn’t rush into it. Now he needed reassurance and love, not doubts. Doubts would, I was sure, make everything worse. “It doesn’t matter. We’re together, we’re not sleeping apart. Not ever again.”

He gave a wry smile. “I won’t leave. I promise.” He smoothed the hair back from my temples, holding it clear of my face so he could see me properly. The light flickered over his features, sending shadows chasing across his high cheekbones, his bright eyes. “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m tired, that’s all.”

Yes, that was it. It had to be. “You cared for me and the children so much you didn’t take care of yourself. Now it’s my turn to care for you. I need to eat and rest, nothing more. I feel fine now, just weak. I know I have some ground to make up, and I promise I’ll be good and take care of myself. Now we have to care for the children together and make sure they have what they need.” If a child reached its fifth birthday, that was a good sign it would live a long and prosperous life. I wouldn’t allow anything else to happen.

I shifted against him, and immediately he put his arms around me and held me safe and close. Always in my care. I could adore him for that alone. After a lifetime when nobody particularly cared, although I was loved as part of a robustly large family group, to have the devotion and care of one person was like having my very own pasha. “You’re worried about the children.”

“And amazed. I look at them in wonder sometimes.” He grimaced. “Even more, now. That I could have made them when I can’t even—”

I touched his lips with my finger to stop him saying it. “Once, my love. Just once. After a long journey. I’ve rested, but you have not. And we have this new problem, the poor maid. In the next few days I think that matter will resolve itself. We’ll discover it was a squabble between the domestic staff, or someone Lizzie has dismissed or scolded, even. You know we will.” I knew we wouldn’t, but if the thought gave him solace tonight, I would say it.

He kissed my fingers before I removed them, allowing him to speak. “I know no such thing, but I appreciate your concerns. I think perhaps I need to get the matter into perspective. On top of everything else, to have your life threatened in this way, I won’t deny it rocked me. I thought we’d reached a haven of sorts. By the end of the winter, I’d have a healthy wife, happy children and I’d be able to return home to face my mother secure in the knowledge that I had a healthy, happy family.” He paused. “Then out of the blue you fell ill. So ill Carier worried for you.” He smiled at the surprised expression in my eyes. “I questioned them both thoroughly after you fell ill.” He sighed. “I won’t be protected from the truth, Rose. Ever.”

“Neither will I,” I reminded him. “Don’t even try. I can feel the strength returning, every day a little more, and the sickness merely proved a minor setback. Please, don’t keep me out of this. Share with me.” He’d taken too much on himself in the last weeks. Perhaps that was part of the reason for tonight. As it was, it gave him something else to worry about.

“Very well.” He drew me close and kissed me with such tenderness that it brought tears to my eyes. After that he had to kiss them away. “I promise I’ll keep you involved, every step of the way. Will that do?”

“For now.”

He swung me around, laying me down next to him and rolling over me. “In the meantime, there’s no reason both of us should suffer.” He kissed me again, drawing it out this time, taking his time to explore me and love me.

His member didn’t respond. It remained half-erect, stubbornly refusing to complete its journey. But Richard wouldn’t let me touch it, wouldn’t let me try to stimulate him back to full hardness. Instead, he lavished all his attention on me. He kissed down my body once more, and this time he stopped at the seat of my pleasure, teasing and tasting. The first occasion he’d done that to me, my shock was only exceeded by the joy he’d given me, but now I knew this was a way for him to regain his mastery over the art he’d made his own—the art of making love.

He moved down and slipped the tip of one finger into me while he took possession of the pearl of flesh that brought me the most pleasure, flicking it with his tongue while he spread his free hand over my backside, holding me to him like he was consuming a special treat. He worked me, slowly pushing his finger into me then adding another and scissoring them open to caress every part of my inner channel. When he discovered the spot that made me cry out and clutch handfuls of his hair, he laughed and lapped up the tribute my body gave to him, waiting to take long, sweeping licks over my clitoris and then sucking it into his mouth once more.

I erupted, my body straining against him, giving him all the love I could, physically and mentally devoting myself to him. Whatever he was, whatever he did, I was his willing slave. But not one without a brain. I wouldn’t allow him to sink into self-recrimination and doubt, and I was glad he’d made this decision, to make me the recipient of his attentions.

When he came back to hold me, he was still in no state to make love to me, but apart from aching for him, wishing I could do to him what he did to me, I was glad. By that action he’d accepted me, by showing me his current inability to remain hard, he’d let me in, decided to share his weakness with me instead of pretending he was all strength. It would bring us closer. It would make us stronger, I was sure of it.

Chapter Twelve

Richard’s problem was not a single incident. On the next night and the night following, the same thing happened. But I retained my belief that this was a temporary state of affairs while remaining cheerful in his presence and worrying in private. We made love in other ways, rediscovered how to please each other by touching and kissing, and I truly believed it could help to bring us closer. Another storm to weather together, something else we would deal with as a couple.

Left to himself, Richard would have gone away and brooded in private. It wasn’t a problem he could turn to anyone else with, nothing he could ask anyone else about, so we would cope with it ourselves.

It always happened when he was about to enter me. I could imagine how debilitating it was, and I was almost relieved when my courses came on me after the third day and we could abandon attempts to make love but still spend the night together.

The fifth day after Richard’s first attempt to make love to me had failed, not that I was counting, I asked him to join me in the music room. The previous day I had tested the beautiful harpsichord and found it adequate for my needs. As I had suspected, while the workmanship on the carcase was of the highest order, it decorated an instrument that was mundane at best, but I would not mention that to either Lizzie or her husband, neither of whom were particularly musical and were proud of the item. As a piece of furniture, it worked extremely well, but I’d have far rather had something much plainer but better constructed.

Richard closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the top edge of the sofa where he’d chosen to sit, a place he could watch me play and we could exchange glances and smiles. When I looked at his face, I saw exhaustion there. He’d taken everything on himself in the last few months, and our recent problem would not have helped him to regain anything like his usual demeanour of confident strength. That he still exuded it spoke for his force of will. But I was pleased to bring him this solace, and should he wish it, I’d play for him all afternoon and make this mediocre instrument work for him. I’d make it sing and dance if it would take the worry from his shoulders. Too much trouble piled up had brought him to this pass, and I’d ease his burden somehow.

I continued to play, choosing pieces I knew well and alternating them with new ones that I’d have to pause for when I turned the pages. I didn’t want him moving, and when he tried, I shook my head. I’d spent a lot of my time as a girl turning pages for myself, and I could almost make it part of the music. “Oh, Rose is practicing again,” meant I didn’t have to make polite conversation with people I had little in common with, or try to embroider neatly, or any of the other pastimes considered suitable for a respectable unmarried lady. Which I mostly hated.

If, in those days, anyone had told me that I’d find a man as essential to my well-being as breathing, that he’d be a leader of society, heir to one of the richest estates in the country, I’d have scoffed. For one thing, where would I meet such a scion of the superb, and secondly, why would he look at me when he must have women falling at his feet? Well he did, and here we were. And I still had difficulty believing it sometimes. Like now, seeing the perfect being, dressed relatively casually today, but in clothes some of my Devonshire neighbours would have donned for a dinner with the squire, sitting listening to what I could make for him.