Persuasion (26 page)

prod him into believing that she wanted nothing from him but love and those

sinful pleasures of the flesh he had mentioned earlier.

For one breathless moment, Lily had intended to tell him the truth, the

whole truth. Once her avowal of love had slipped from her mouth, the desire

to divulge and free herself from the burden of her blackmail had been great.

Lily had had to fight herself fiercely to ensure that her mouth was kept quite

closed. For what good would it do?

No good whatsoever. Of that, she was fully aware!

When she had walked through the door to his study, an intense feeling of

homecoming had assailed her. Along with that fierce emotion was a

tiredness that came from the fact her slumber had not been restful and from

her earlier malady.

She had walked through the study and taken a seat upon his lap. Settling

there, she had felt so innately comforted that she had determined to simply

talk to him and he had welcomed that opportunity with a grace that had

quite pleased her.

It had come as a great surprise to see that the large painting of his dead

wife had disappeared. A part of her wondered what that meant. In its stead

was a large faded mark on the wall and a smaller oil painting of a large

horse, rearing into the sky.

Did that mean he had let the memory of his betrayer go?

She bit her lip at the thought.

If she had done one thing for him, one thing to help him rather than harm

him, perhaps this was it.

Mayhap, Lily had successfully freed him from the bitterness that had

consumed him upon the realization that his wife was not the woman he had

believed her to be.

A part of her hoped that were he to learn the real reason behind her visits to

his house, that for this alone, he would be able to forgive her.

Lily sighed and nestled a little deeper into his embrace. The desire to spill all

to Dorian was great and she had to close her eyes against it. The thought

that were he to learn the truth and then cast her out, hate her, was too

much to bear.

There was nowhere she would rather be than in this man's arms and it hurt

her deeply to realize that they could have no future together. Not unless,

she did indeed discuss the blackmailer with him.

Another jolt of fatigue rushed through her system and Lily knew that at that

moment, she simply didn't have the energy to discuss something of that

import. Not only that, she did not have the courage.

It shamed her to admit that to herself, but it was the truth. And it would

have been worse, were she to start lying to herself about her capabilities.

Perhaps another time, she would be able to speak to him of the true

circumstances behind their meetings, without the fear that he would soon

after cast her asunder with hate in his heart.

Gulping at the thought, she turned her face against his and pressed a kiss to

his lips. Sighing as he began to explore her mouth with his own, the delicacy

of that particular joining making a shiver course over her flesh and set alight

a tingle of goose bumps.

With a shaking hand, she reached for his and placed it against her breast.

The bottom curve of each breast was covered by her petticoat, but the top

half was bare and the feel of his slightly callused fingers against her skin was

incredibly exciting.

He touched her gently there, almost tickling her and heightening the

sensitivity of that already delicate skin. Suddenly, his arms grasped her legs

and simultaneously supported her back as he heaved them both out of the

armchair and spread them in their regular position before the fireplace.

His hands tore at the petticoat to release her willing flesh and he was soon

throwing it aside to bare her entirely to his aroused gaze. She licked her lips

and watched as his eyes followed the movement. The highly charged

moment had her back arching against the floor, which in turn had her

breasts shifting with a movement his hands sought to capture.

She shuddered at the touch. “More,” she whispered.

Dorian laughed gruffly. “I should take you upstairs. You deserve more than

the floor. Especially if you have been ill . . . .”

“I care not. I want only you.”

“That does not matter. I also want only you, but you deserve a feather bed

to lie upon, the warmth of my bedchamber . . . not the cold floor of my

study!”

“It matters not to me, Dorian. I want you pressed against me, warming me,

not the heat from a hot brick in your bed!”

She could see that her breathy words affected him. “You truly are unique,

my love,” he whispered.

Lily's heart almost froze at that moment. My love?

Oh God, how she wished she were.

How she wished she could shout from the rooftops and damn society to hell

that this man was hers and she was his. How she hated that bastard

blackmailer for pushing her into a situation where she found her soul mate .

. . only to simultaneously ruin her future.

God, she hurt. She stared up at him with wounded eyes. “I love you, Dorian.

Never forget that. Please,” she whispered, spying his confusion.

He smiled. It was strained. “You say that like this is the last time. The

Season does not end for six weeks or more.”

She shrugged and stretched the truth. “I visit when I can, Dorian.”

“Ah. Then we should make this night memorable, should we not?”

Lily sighed and then softly smiled. “Please. Let's.”

He grinned and slipped his hands over her body, running them from the

curve of her waist to the cusp of her hips where he curled his fingers about

her upper thigh and slowly, with a wicked smile, urged her legs apart.

She complied, willingly and welcomed him between them. The sensation of

fabric against tender skin was surprising, it had feelings of exhilaration rush

through her, at the realization that he was fully clothed and she quite, quite

naked.

Heady, was the word she sought.

Unbelievably so.

A shudder rushed through her and with seeking hands, she reached for him,

only resting when they were tucked about his neck and pressed him close to

her.

“I should make you beg after abandoning me this morning. I wouldn't be

surprised if I accidentally flashed my buttocks at Hague, my butler!”

Lily couldn't help it, a laugh escaped her throat and as it permeated the

sound waves, she was surprised at its sultry nature. Was that how she

sounded to him?

The thought was not displeasing.

She reached down to grab at the discussed buttocks and grinned. “Lucky

Hague,” she whispered saucily and pealed into laughter again as his ears

turned pink.

“Minx. I do believe that you should be punished!”

His mouth dropped down to hers and within seconds moans were escaping

her throat. She couldn't help it. She couldn't contain them. His tongue

tangled with hers, and, together, they fought a duel. Their mouths ate at the

others, their tongues challenged for domination, their teeth nibbled and bit

to punish . . . she began to pant as a heady excitement charged through the

atmosphere and had the small hairs at the back of her neck standing upright

to attention.

She shuddered.

And almost as though they were joined by kinetic energy, he too quaked

atop her.

He stilled and tugged his mouth from hers. For endless moments, he stared

down at her. Their eyes met, clashed and warred as they sought the truth

from one another. The honest to God truth of emotions that were too

precious to even discuss.

Suddenly, he jumped up and left her uncovered to his gaze. She did not

mind and slowly rolled her hips against the floor, watching as his speed

quickened and trousers went flying and buttons soared into the air as he

ripped himself free from his clothing.

When he practically dove upon her, she laughed up at him only stopping

when his fingers slipped between her thighs and began to strum at the

nubbin that rested along the central line of her body.

Her eyes flared wide before they sunk to mere slithers and her lips parted as

she sucked in hissing breaths. He stared down at her, his gaze triumphant

and so powerfully male that she submitted to his dominance eagerly.

Her moist sex welcomed him happily, his fingers slid in the juices of her

pleasure and that in itself heightened her exultation. She shivered as his

slippery digits edged about the nubbin of her desire until every part of her

was on the cusp of something marvelous, of something heavenly.

When his fingers stilled, she stared up at him blearily. There was a

possessive stamp on his face. She had thought this her punishment, as he

had so earlier described it, but it wasn't. What it was, she did not, in all

honesty, know. It was deep and intense and meaningful and her heart

literally quivered in her chest at the sight of it.

She wished to the Gods that she could have this, experience this every day

for the rest of her life . . . but it was not to be.

The thought had her closing her eyes.

Suddenly, they were jolted open as his member pressed against her

entrance and slowly but surely began to possess her, fighting the natural

resistance of her body, pushing through the tight confines of her still-

innocent sex.

Together, they shuddered, when the very essence of his masculinity

possessed every inch of the very essence of her femininity, leaving no part

of her not branded by his touch. Not a spare inch of him was not scorched

by her own molten heat.

His hips began to thrust, slowly at first. Slowly, so that her tissues dragged

against his and that she could truly experience the feeling of utter

penetration, of him touching her so deeply that she would never be able to

forget him in her innermost self.

Then, as arousal strummed her body and pleasure had her wriggling against

the floor, he began to move faster. There was no time to recall the touch of

a sword slowly being sheathed . . . this was so much more intense. Each

thrust had her gasping, had her back arching from the floor as she needed

him to touch her harder, faster, deeper.

“Dorian!” she cried out blindly as he clutched at her legs and changed their

position so that the bottom curve of her spine still rested on the floor but her

hips were arched upwards to accept even more of him.

At that moment, she thought she would die. Had she thought him as deep as

physically possible before? Now, now, God, she felt as though he were

touching her throat.

Her legs tightened about him instinctively as his hands moved from their

hold there and down to touch her breasts. The nipples eagerly perked

upwards; glad to see the master who could strum their sensitivity to heights

previously unknown as though they were an instrument, through which

marvelous music could be played.

He tweaked and pinched at the nubbins as his hips slammed into hers and

all the while, their eyes were joined. Perhaps that was the most intense part

of it. The knowledge that he could touch her so intimately and yet it was not

as intimate as the looks they were sharing. As the emotions that were

passing between each other.

Indeed, she knew for a fact that he saw the culmination of her pleasure

before her body did from the look in her eyes so intense was their

connection!

When her climax shot through her with the power of a gale, she clutched at

him both intimately and with her arms. She dragged him down and begged

for his seed, begged for him to claim her in the most primal way possible.

The pressure of his body against her torso had her arching in reaction, the

deep sensations merely enhanced the echoing waves of shattering exultation

that pounded through her limbs.

Her ears whooshed with a silent wind, her eyes were blinded with a rainbow

of colors, her sense of taste and smell were filled with the scent of his skin.

It was merely enhanced when his seed powered into her depths. As he sank

against her, resting his head upon her chest and ultimately dozing within her

embrace, Lily knew that she had never felt so close to home as she did at

this exact moment in time.

There was something almost ironic about the fact that this time when she

was prepared for her blackmailer to be sharing her coach home, he wasn't in

fact there. That she was alone . . . well, it was almost anti-climactic, and it

further enraged her. Her teeth ached from the tension in her face and her

jaw felt almost like iron. She had been so ready to finally demand some

answers and now she wouldn't be receiving any.

Not tonight, at least.

Indeed, as she'd accepted the hand of the footman and had allowed him to

help her into the carriage, Lily had been prepared to tear into the bastard

who was forcing her into such a distressing situation and scold him with her

hatred as soon as the door had been closed.

Indeed, she'd long to yell at him, to ask him how he could have done this to

her? How could he have so easily destroyed her life and all without having

known her?

But now, she couldn't. She wouldn't have the chance to hear from him and