Surrender to a Stranger (30 page)

She stood before him in her chemise and stockings, her pale skin faintly peach-colored against the fine white linen, her golden hair tumbling wildly onto her shoulders. She lifted her arms to cover herself, suddenly uncertain, and he took a step forward and grasped her wrists, unwilling to let her.

“My God,” he breathed hoarsely, “you are exquisite.”

He bent his head and took possession of her lips once more, drinking in the sweet taste of her. She trembled slightly, and he thought she might be cold, so he lifted her into his arms and cuddled her against the warmth of his chest. Her shoes fell to the floor as he carried her to the bed, not once releasing her lips from his. With one swift motion he pulled down the covers, and then he lay her against the cool sheets, pausing only to remove his shoes before stretching out beside her and pulling the covers over them both.

He lowered himself against her, sharing his warmth, and began to kiss her once more, tenderly at first, and then with a renewed passion as he felt her begin to respond. His hand moved down the thin fabric of her chemise until it found the bottom of it, and then it began to move up inside the garment, ascending slowly, across the silky flat of her stomach, along the delicate ridges of her rib cage, and finally stopping at the mound of her breast, which was cool and full and lush. He caressed the petal-soft peak until he felt it tighten, and then, unable to restrain himself any longer, he tore his lips from hers and lowered his head to take the sweet bud into his mouth. Jacqueline moaned and arched herself against him, and then threaded her fingers into his hair, holding him at her breast, encouraging him to suckle, and letting out a little cry of disappointment when he lifted his head briefly to seek out the other breast and give it equal attention. He pulled away again to remove her chemise entirely, and instead of resisting she helped him take it off, as if she was just as anxious to be rid of it as he. He pressed himself against her to feel the cool softness of her skin against the warmth of his, and began to kiss her hungrily as his hand reached down to take off her stockings. Her thighs were soft, her legs long and firm, and once her stockings were removed he quickly peeled off his breeches and tossed them to the floor, then stretched out beside the glory of her beautiful body.

Jacqueline ran her hands across the taut heat of Armand’s skin, learning the muscular surface of his back, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, unable to touch him enough, longing to know everything about his body. She tilted her head back so he could press hungry kisses against her throat, behind her ear, across her collarbone, and then she pulled his head up so she could claim his mouth again, exploring it with a new boldness as her hands roamed up and down the length of him. She was vaguely aware that his hand was moving down again, brushing against her breasts, across the valley of her stomach, and around the swell of her hip before stopping to caress the inside of her thigh, startling her. Gently his fingers moved up and down, encouraging her legs to relax, skimming lightly over the sensitive skin. Her body became languid, enjoying the sensation of being touched. His fingers slowly moved up, gently caressing that mysterious place that had begun to ache with a need Jacqueline did not understand. Before she could think to resist, his fingers had slipped inside the tender folds of skin, moving leisurely, lightly, in and out, up and down, slowly, then faster, caressing, exploring, filling her with a pleasure so sweet and intense she felt sure she would lose her mind from it. She kissed him hungrily as she writhed against the rhythm of his fingers, pressing herself against him, feeling an unfamiliar need burst into flames within her. His mouth left hers to trail kisses down her breasts, across her stomach, and onto the silky triangle where his hand was working its magic, and then his tongue flickered lightly inside her, and she could not keep from crying out.

“Please, Monsieur St.—”

“My name is Armand,” he told her, his voice raw and adamant.

“Please, Armand, I do not think I can bear it,” she whispered.

He hesitated, and then he moved back up to claim her lips with his. He wanted to pleasure her, he wanted to gradually take her to the stars and bring her back again, he wanted to fill her with a need so intense and then a fulfillment so glorious that she would always be his, even if they never touched each other again after tonight. She was so achingly beautiful, so devastatingly sensual, he was not at all certain how much longer he could control himself. It had been a long time since he had been with a woman.
Slowly,
he reminded himself. She was a virgin, and she would need the utmost care.

He lowered himself on top of her, easing her down into the softness of the mattress. His hardness pressed against her and her eyes grew wide, shimmering with uncertainty. He kissed her tenderly, seeking to relax her as his knee moved between her legs and encouraged them to open. His hand slid down and gently stroked her, and she sighed and closed her eyes, giving in once again to his teasing exploration. And when she was moaning and writhing against him he positioned himself against her slick heat, filled with a desire to bury himself inside her so intense he felt certain he could not stand it a moment longer, and yet he did, because above all else he did not want to hurt her.
Slowly,
he reminded himself, his jaw tense with effort.
Slowly.

Jacqueline could feel the velvet tip of him against her heated flesh, and she wondered why he hesitated. There was an ache inside her, a deep, painful, exquisite ache that she felt sure would be relieved if only he would enter her. She raised her hips slightly to encourage him, and he began to fill her, slowly, gradually, and then he withdrew, only to slide in again, a little more this time, stretching her, filling her, and just when she thought she could not take any more of him, he withdrew again. And then he glided into her once more, a little farther this time, and waited, allowing her to get used to the feel of him, giving her body time to adjust.

“Look at me, Jacqueline,” he whispered hoarsely.

She opened her eyes to look at him, and saw that he was controlling himself, that he was going slowly for her benefit, for it was going to hurt her, she understood that now. And so touched was she by his concern for her, by his reluctance to do something he knew was going to cause her pain, that suddenly she did not care if it hurt, she only knew that she wanted him inside her, now. She reached up and grasped the back of his neck, pulling him down to her, and she laid her hand against his cheek and whispered his name. “Armand.”

It was all the invitation he needed. Lost in the shimmering pools of her eyes, which were brilliant with a mixture of trust and desire, he found he could not hold back any longer. He whispered, “Jacqueline,” and in one blinding thrust of ecstasy he drove himself into her.

He felt her body tense and tighten around him, and he thought surely he must die from the torture of it. He held himself steady and closed his eyes, fighting for control. And then he opened his eyes and looked at her. She was watching him, her face drawn and pale, her lashes sparkling with tears. And his heart constricted with the need to ease her discomfort, and so he bent his head and kissed her eyelids. “Easy, my love,” he whispered gently. “The pain will not last. I promise.”

Jacqueline released the breath she had been holding, and with it the tension that had momentarily gripped her began to dissipate, like sand spilling out of a sack. And then Armand began to move within her, gently, slowly, stoking the flames of need that were still burning inside her. He moved his hand down to stroke her where their bodies were joined, and he kissed her, tenderly at first, and then hard and hot and demanding, overwhelming her with sensations that were dark and wonderful and frightening. An urgency possessed her, a need to feel more, taste more, touch more, and she kissed him wildly as she pulsed against him, matching his rhythm, taking him deeper and deeper inside her. She knew that she was pleasing him, she could sense it in the strained hardness of his body, the clenching of his jaw, the powerful way in which he drove into her again and again, and the idea that they were sharing this incredible pleasure together made her even more abandoned. She began to let out little soft, panting moans, and the fire inside her began to grow, hotter, hungrier, more intense, until it was consuming her with a need that was strange, incomprehensible, frightening. Still Armand stroked her and filled her and kissed her, whispering husky words of praise and encouragement she could not understand, could barely even hear because her breath was coming in raspy, shallow little gasps. Her entire being was tight and tense and focused, she could not think about anything except that she wanted more, needed more, and so she thrust herself against him and held him close, and the sensations came faster and faster and faster, until suddenly she was exploding through the air like a shooting star, soaring into the darkness and away from everything she had ever known. For one brief, magnificent moment the world was flooded with light and joy, and she cried out, a cry of wonder, and pleasure, and happiness.

Armand covered her mouth with his and her cry rang into him as he thrust into her, again and again and again, his body straining and swollen, drinking in the pleasure of her ecstasy. He wanted to lose himself inside her. He wanted to always feel the heat of her silky skin against his, to inhale the delicate fragrance of her hair and taste the sweetness of her mouth and feel the wonder of her passion and know that she was his, forever. He wanted her to the point where he thought he would lose his mind. And the realization was agony, because she was not his, except for this one, bittersweet moment, and he wanted it to last longer, but his control had deserted him. He called her name, a cry of desire and despair, and then he kissed her deeply and drove into her, a long, powerful, agonizing thrust, and spilled himself into her as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

They lay together for a while, their hearts pounding, their breathing shallow and rapid. Jacqueline clutched him tightly, confused by what had just happened between them, and unwilling to surface and admit that it was over. Nothing had prepared her for such a glorious union, or for the unbelievable way she had responded to him. Nothing.

Armand was the first to stir. Concerned that he was crushing her with his weight, he gathered her into his arms and rolled onto his side, taking her with him. Then he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, inhaling the sweetness of her hair.

Lying next to him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against her bare skin, his warm, powerful body pressed intimately against hers, she felt shy suddenly, shy and awkward and uncertain. Her mind was a riot of conflicting emotions, confusing and disturbing her.

“I should be going,” she whispered hesitantly.

Her words cut into the peaceful serenity that had descended upon him. She wanted to leave. But he did not want her to go. He wanted to lie there and hold her in his arms and pretend, just for a moment, that she was his. He wanted to fall asleep feeling as though he still had something left in this world to live for. For the first time in over a year he wanted to dream, not the painful, guilt-ridden dreams that haunted him night after night, but that there was a future waiting for him, a future filled with something other than the terrible need to punish himself for the past. Jacqueline had the power to make him forget. And perhaps, given time, he might have had the power to make her forget. But there was no time. The man she wanted was in prison, and he was going to return to France and risk his life so that someone named François-Louis could escape to England and marry her.

“I must return before the servants are up,” persisted Jacqueline, feeling shy and awkward, and wondering why he did not release her.

Armand’s response was to pull her even closer, so her face was pressed against the warmth of his neck. He lifted one hand and brushed a silky wisp of hair off her cheek, taking pleasure in the fact that she did not resist, but allowed him to touch her as if it was his right to do so. No matter what the future held, for this moment she was his, and he was not ready to let the moment end.

“Rest awhile, Jacqueline,” he murmured, his voice low and persuasive. “It is not so late. I will see that you are awakened in good time to make the journey back to the Harrington estate.”

Jacqueline hesitated. She was so comfortable and warm in Armand’s arms. And she was a little sleepy. The idea of getting up and crawling into an icy-cold carriage was not the least bit enticing. And he wanted her to stay. A delicious sense of complacency enveloped her, and she yawned.

“You are sure I will get back in good time?” she managed, already closing her eyes and instinctively nestling against him.

Armand smiled and caressed her satiny cheek with the back of his fingers. “I promise.”

She awoke with a start to the sound of light tapping on the door. She was alone in the bed. She sat bolt upright, trying to remember where she was, and to her horror discovered that she was naked. She yanked the covers up against her chest as her eyes swept the room, which was dark and cold, looking for some sign of Armand, but there was none. The tapping continued.

“Mademoiselle de Lambert, are you awake?” called a woman’s voice softly in French.

The door slowly creaked open, letting in a yellow shaft of light from the hallway. A middle-aged woman dressed in a white night wrapper stood before her, carrying a candelabra. “Monsieur St. James asked that you be wakened at two o’clock,” she explained in a hushed voice as she closed the door. “Your carriage is being prepared, and I have come to help you dress.” She walked over to the fire and began to stir the glowing embers and add more wood to it.

Jacqueline pulled a cover around her as she rose from the bed, trying to shield herself from the chill that had fallen on the room. She was grateful to Armand for sending a maid to waken her and help her dress, for it saved her from the embarrassment of having to face him. If she did encounter him on the way out, she knew she would not have the faintest idea of what to say.