Nicole Jordan (33 page)

But then, from the very first, Diana had filled him with a burning need. His desire for her was something that had been building inside him since the moment they’d met.

Thorne stared into the firelit darkness, his mind a restless jumble of reflections. He had won a victory tonight. Or was the victory hers? What was it about this woman that touched him in a way no one ever had before?

Shifting uneasily at the thought, Thorne slipped out from beneath Diana and went to the washstand to retrieve a wet cloth. Returning to the bed, he proceeded to wash the traces of his seed and her virginal blood from her body. He tried to remain impassive, clinical, as he worked, but this was the first time he had seen her fully naked, and her loveliness was everything he had anticipated, alluring enough to take his breath away.

When he forced himself to look up, he found Diana watching him, her eyes dark and solemn. Her hair was a wild cloud around her face, her mouth moist and passion-bruised.

Heat filled Thorne anew when he remembered the way her mouth had softened and shaped itself hungrily to his.

“So, was lovemaking what you expected?” he asked to lighten the somber mood.

“Even better.” Her soft smile was half-shy, half-wry. “But I never expected to become so carried away.”

“I’m flattered, sweeting.”

He brushed back a tendril of hair from her face, trying to ignore the nameless emotion flooding his heart. Instead he deliberately noted her injured shoulder and let anger surge through him again.

He touched the bandage tenderly. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No. Does your hand?”

“No, but my ankle throbs like the bloody devil.”

She laughed softly and didn’t protest when he made her shift her weight so he could turn down the bedcovers.

Thorne lay down beside her, facing her, before pulling the sheets up over them both. This time, however, his intention was not merely to comfort her, but to soften her defenses.

Diana had been so badly wounded with her first betrothal, it was only reasonable for her to fear being hurt again. Thorne knew he would have to show her that he would never hurt her. He would never abandon her the way her cursed fortune-hunter had done.

But if he hoped to overcome her resistance, he would have to change tactics. He was determined to wed her, but pressing his suit was clearly not working, so he meant to do everything he could to bind Diana to him with passion. Perhaps then she would willingly concede to their marriage.

Deliberately Thorne shrugged off the whispering voice that warned him of the danger in his new course. He refused to give up now.

He wanted Diana as his lover. She’d been hot and abandoned, passionate, everything he could desire in a bed partner, but he hungered for even more. He wanted to show her every pleasure ever felt between a man and a woman. He wanted her vibrant and alive with need for him.

Capturing her gaze, Thorne pressed his full length against hers, letting her feel the heat of his body.

“You win, love,” he declared softly. “I won’t insist that you accept my marriage proposal, if that’s what you really want. If I can’t have you for my wife, then I’ll settle for having you for my lover.”

Her brows drawing together, she studied him as if trying to judge his sincerity. “Truly? You will stop demanding that I wed you for real?”

“I will if we become lovers.”

The uncertainty in her beautiful eyes told him of the battle that she was waging with herself, but he was prepared to give her a little time. He raised a forefinger to softly stroke her lips, waiting.

At his gentle touch, Diana squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to endure Thorne’s seductive gaze. With her emotions so battered and her senses in such turmoil, it would be too easy to surrender to him without rationally considering the consequences. He was proposing an affair without benefit of marriage. And heaven help her, she wanted to accept. After the incredible passion he had just shown her, she found it difficult to heed her previous arguments about guarding her heart. Thorne’s lovemaking had been more overwhelming than she’d ever imagined possible.

She could scarcely believe she had gone so far as to relinquish her virginity, yet it had been a simple decision, really—driven by a basic need for comfort and an even more fundamental realization of her own mortality.

She could have died today never knowing what it was like to make love, to experience the full measure of her womanhood.

And now that she had tasted Thorne’s passion, she found herself craving more.

She didn’t want to fight him any longer. For years she had ruthlessly repressed every feminine desire, every emotional need, in an effort to avoid scandal. But her efforts had been futile. She’d endured the loneliness, the barrenness of her austere existence for no reason.

She was through enduring, Diana swore silently to herself, allowing herself to meet Thorne’s gaze. For once in her life she wanted to experience true passion.

The strength of her longing shook her.

Thorne seemed to be able to read her mind, for a tender smile touched his mouth.

His flesh was smooth and hot as he pressed his lithe body against hers. Then he bent his head to her breasts in a new assault on her senses, kissing one nipple and gently fondling the other with his fingers, making her feel hot and shivery and dazed all over again.

Diana drew a sharp breath as fire played over her skin and along her nerve endings.

“So, you will be my lover, my beautiful Diana?” he murmured, his voice stroking her like velvet, the same way his lips and fingers were stroking her.

“Yes,” she whispered, finally surrendering to the yearning Thorne had aroused in her from their very first encounter.

Fifteen

D
iana’s surrender
marked the beginning of a searing new intimacy between them, for Thorne taught her the meaning of pleasure.

His first order of business, however, was seeing to her protection. The next morning when he allowed Diana to return to her own home, he insisted that she be accompanied by three of his male servants, who were to be assimilated into her household staff.

Thorne’s next step was to pay a call on Madam Venus, where he extended a veiled warning to keep away from Diana.

Venus received him in her boudoir, where she was sipping chocolate on her chaise longue, her lush body swathed in a velvet wrapper to ward off the chill of the rainy day. She frowned when she saw Thorne was using a cane to support his injured left ankle, and frowned again when he took her fingers with his bandaged left hand and bent to kiss her knuckles.

“Did you suffer an accident, my lord?”

“My town coach was held up by highwaymen last evening,” Thorne said lazily, taking a chair and laying aside the cane he’d brought more for effect than from necessity.

“How harrowing.”

Yet she didn’t seem surprised, he noted, studying Venus closely. However, he didn’t expect to wring any confessions from her this morning. Merely to subtly threaten her.

Thorne went on to relate the details of the highway incident of the previous day, including that both his coachman and Miss Sheridan had been shot.

Venus seemed genuinely alarmed at this last revelation. “Diana was shot?” she exclaimed in dismay, sitting up and nearly spilling her chocolate. “Was she badly hurt?”

“Not badly. The bandits were aiming at me, but the bullet missed me and grazed the top of her shoulder.”

“That is dreadful!”

Thorne offered Venus a chilling smile. “It was fortunate they didn’t seriously injure her, for their lives would have been forfeit. Indeed, if any harm should befall Diana in the future, I would go to the ends of the earth to hunt down the perpetrators.”

Venus gave a delicate shudder at his expression, and looked sober and distracted when Thorne changed the subject.

He presented Venus with the final payment for Kitty’s services in saving his ward, saying that Reginald Kneighly had been kept so well occupied, he hadn’t approached Amy in weeks—with the result that Amy had declared their budding affair at an end. Thorne was satisfied that the girl’s infatuation with her fortune-hunter was now over. But he was also satisfied, at least for the moment, to have put Venus on notice.

He next called on Macky, whom he roused from sleep. When he repeated the tale of the carriage holdup and his suspicions that Venus’s bruisers might have been the culprits, Macky confided that he hadn’t seen either hulking brute at the club last night. Thorne ordered Macky to keep an eye out for them both, and then he took his leave.

His final call of the morning was on a different madam. The previous night Diana had shyly expressed her worry about the unintended consequences of their lovemaking, and Thorne had promised to see to the matter. If he managed to get her with child, it would only serve his purpose, for Diana would be forced to wed him then or face being banished from society for good. But he wasn’t prepared to be quite so devious, and knew Mme Fouchet would discreetly provide him with what he sought.

From her sin club, he went directly to Diana’s house, where he found her working in her studio as expected.

The soft smile she gave him when he entered made Thorne’s heartbeat quicken and his loins harden.

He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply—until she gave a laughing protest and pushed him away. “Stop that! We have work to do. Now take off your shirt, if you please.”

“I would be more than happy to undress completely,” Thorne offered with a wicked grin.

“Thank you, but no. It would be too distracting.”

They had agreed she would paint his portrait to excuse his frequent visits to her studio over the next few weeks, and she had decided to finish the painting she’d begun on board the schooner during their voyage to England.

As he removed his jacket and cravat and waistcoat, Thorne glanced at the canvas, which rested on her easel. She had only begun the basics—sketched his face and form and blocked out shapes and lines and shadows. But he had no doubt the end result would be extraordinary as usual.

It didn’t matter, though, how spectacular the completed portrait was, since he would never permit it to be seen by anyone else. This would be strictly a private endeavor, just between the two of them. And he intended to use the opportunity to chip away at Diana’s defenses.

For now, Thorne obediently removed his shirt and stood where Diana posed him, leaning against a sturdy wood frame fashioned like a ship’s bulkhead, which she had put into position so that the angles of light were ideal.

Thorne allowed her to work uninterrupted for nearly an hour before asking permission to stretch. When she gave it, he gently flexed his injured ankle to ease the stiffness, then went into the adjacent storeroom to fetch a sable cloak he’d seen earlier among the props and costumes. Returning to the studio, he spread the luxurious fur on the floor before the hearth and added a log to the flagging fire. Next he retrieved a silk pouch from his jacket pocket and tossed it on the fur.

He noted Diana’s raised eyebrows but gave her no explanation as he crossed the studio to lock the door. When finally he came back to her, he set aside her brush and palette and pretended to view the developing portrait.

“I don’t think you have captured my mouth precisely,” he said lazily. “You need a closer study of form and texture.”

Drawing her against him, he kissed her again, his tongue dancing with hers, making her feel his urgent desire. He thought she might protest, but she gave a sweet sigh and surrendered to him willingly.

When he eventually allowed her up for air, Diana gazed at him with dreamy-eyed exasperation. “You seem determined to distract me from working on your portrait.”

“My portrait can wait. For now I intend to make love to you before the fire.”

“You are perfectly wicked, you know.”

“And you have too many inhibitions, my love. I mean to set you free of the strictures that have kept you chained for so long.”

Diana’s expression turned uncertain. “In broad daylight?”

“There is no better time. You still have a great deal to learn about passion. I want to show you how to feel pleasure and how to give pleasure in return. Now let’s begin by undressing you.”

Reaching behind her to untie the sashes at her waist and neck, he removed the paint-smeared smock that protected her gown. “I’ve dreamed about peeling you out of this for weeks, since the very first time I saw you in it.”

Next came her gown and slippers and stockings. And finally her corset and chemise. As he bared her breasts to his hot gaze, Thorne bent to lightly kiss her peaked nipples, making Diana inhale sharply. Yet when she stood completely naked before him, except for the bandage at her shoulder, she wrapped her arms around herself as if embarrassed by his intense scrutiny.

Her sudden shyness was endearing, Thorne thought tenderly as he held her arms away.

“I cannot boast the charms of your opera dancers and Cyprians such as Venus,” Diana said, a flush coloring her cheeks.