The Accidental Abduction (18 page)

His hand slid down her belly and lower. He cupped her curls, stroking and fondling her until she cried out and pressed into his hand.

“Yes,” he hissed and his fingers slipped between her drenched folds. “You're very wet aren't you? You're ready for me.”

“Yes,” she cried. “Now!”

His hard fingertips ran up and down her folds again, stroking, exploring, enticing. He found her entrance and dipped inside. Pleasure suffused her and she felt herself opening wider for him. “Please, Harry.”

“Well, since you ask so nicely . . .” His fingers withdrew, but before she had a moment to regret the absence, the blunt tip of his member pressed through her curls. Leannah arched her hips, opening, adjusting her own position so she could meet him. Even as she did, she knew a sliver of doubt. It had been over two years since she'd lain down with a man. Harry was much bigger than Elias had been, and much stronger. She wanted this with every part of her, but was she strong enough to take him in? Would he even
fit
?

But he was kissing her again, long, slow, languorous kisses. Thought retreated, and took uncertainty with it. Her body, it seemed, knew exactly how to accept him. Her inner folds, swollen with lust and want, loosened and opened. He took his weight on his elbows, and yet still managed to cup her breast in his hard hand. Fresh delight sang in her and she opened farther.

Slowly, determinedly, Harry's shaft sank into her heat. It felt too good. Her core tightened around him, as if her body had been starved, and now must take him all at once.

“Yes, Leannah,” he gasped. “Oh, God, yes.”

Power filled her in a rush as heady as all the other pleasures. Leannah wrapped her calves around his legs. She thrust her hips upward and that abrupt motion seated him entirely inside her. Harry gasped and Leannah grinned.

“Wicked. Wanton,” he moaned.

“You have only yourself to blame . . .” She shimmied her hips under him and entirely forgot what she meant to say after that. It felt too good. He felt too good. She must have more. Her body tightened again, greedy, demanding, and so very ready for the pleasure he could bring.

Apparently aware she had reached a limit, Harry began to move. He pressed his hands on the mattress on either side of her head, holding himself on straightened arms. He gazed down on her, his eyes darkened with need, but strangely clear. He was here with her in this moment of pleasure and desire that was theirs alone.

Harry began to move. He thrust, slowly at first, making sure of her. She answered him, pressing her hips tight against his, using her legs to pull him close and hold him so he must fight her to move at all. She wanted him to feel her strength, as she felt his. Her own doubts had vanished. She had taken him in, and she knew her own power now. Harry must be made to realize she was his match, and more. He must know there was no need for restraint.

Not that he was showing much. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, driven by her urging, and his own need. His breathing was ragged and his skin glistened with sweat. He felt so good, so right inside her. Heat and pleasure filled her to the brim as he pressed and held her, sinking so deeply into her that his balls pressed against her folds and his weight crushed her back into the feather mattress.

It was too much. There was no more room for pleasure in her body. She felt the first tentative, trembling waves of her climax.

“Yes, yes!” cried Harry. “Yes, come for me, Leannah!”

That heated command tipped her over the edge, and set her sliding down into those hot, honeyed waves. She cried out as the pleasure washed her beyond desire, beyond thought. Harry's thrusts grew frantic and her pleasure dragged him after her. She felt the throb of his climax echoing and brightening hers, heard his own shout of pleasure and release.

Slowly, the waves subsided. Harry's elbows buckled and he sank on top of her, gathering her to him, rolling them over once more, so he could cradle her body against his. Leannah sighed and snuggled close. Slowly, the warmth and relaxation took her, and Leannah drifted away into sleep.

T
here followed a long, timeless space of peace and darkness. Leannah drifted in and out of awareness. At one point, she felt herself being bundled into quilts and comforters. She swatted lazily at the hands that smoothed down her hair. She was so tired, and the pleasures Harry had so shamelessly bestowed had relaxed her so deliciously, that the only desire remaining in her was for sleep.

Slowly, however, several sensations dragged her reluctantly back into the waking world. The first was that her derriere and the backs of her thighs were cold. The second was that something important was missing from the bed, although she could not at the moment think what it might be.

The third was that she was unbelievably hungry, and she smelled bacon.

It was only then she realized what was missing. Harry was not beside her anymore.

Leannah scrambled to sit upright and push her hair back from her face. The room was awash with a gray twilight, but that was only because the drapes were still closed. The bright glow of watery daylight streamed around and under the closed curtains.

Clearly, she had slept through the night and well into morning. Leannah knuckled the sleep from her eyes. The chamber door was shut, but through the gap by the floor, she saw more light flicker. She kicked away the covers and got to her feet. The fire in here had died. The chill air raised gooseflesh on every inch of her, reminding Leannah she had no wrapper, or nightdress, or anything else to wear.

There was a knock at the door.

“Leannah?” called Harry. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking around for something to cover herself with. Not that she was ashamed, not really. She was cold, and, if she was to admit it, an absurd sort of bashful uncertainty was creeping up her arms along with the gooseflesh. Now that he was no longer looking at her through desire's lens, what would Harry see when that door opened? She'd heard tales of ladies who engaged in passionate nights only to be profoundly disappointed with the man who they woke up beside. Some of these stories had been from the ladies themselves. She also knew the men could be disappointed just as easily, and just as frequently.

What did Harry feel about what had passed between them? Her own need had taken a near savage hold, driving out propriety or hesitation. She'd never felt anything like it. She was used to polite consideration from her partner, a swift completion of the act and a leave-taking that carried the feel of an apology. Not like this. Nothing like this.

“May I come in?” asked Harry.

“Yes.” Leannah found herself crossing and uncrossing her arms, absurdly uncertain what to do with herself—just as Harry had been yesterday.

Harry opened the door. He wore a dressing gown of gray silk, and carried a bundle of claret satin slung over his arm. When he saw her there, he stopped dead. Leannah blushed, brightly and instantly. She turned to retreat to the bed.

“Don't,” said Harry. “Please. There's no need.”

“I'm cold.” The words sounded exactly like what they were; a feeble excuse. Without their passion, she felt awkward—all knees and elbows and sagging breasts.

“I thought you might be. I brought this.” He held up a wrapper of claret brocade with cream lace at the cuffs and hem. When she didn't shy away, Harry stepped forward. She turned, and let him help her into the gown. He closed it tenderly across her, bringing the sash up around her waist and tying it in a neat bow. The ease with which he folded his arms around her dimmed Leannah's worries. She could feel the entire hard length of his body at her back. A host of warm tremors rippled through her.

Harry gathered the entirely disheveled spill of her tresses, drew them out from under the wrapper, and spread the untidy mane across her shoulders.

“I love your hair,” he murmured. “A thousand strands of silk.”

“Hopelessly tangled silk.” Leannah laughed. “It'll take a year with a brush to get it set to rights.”

Harry settled his hands on her arms. “I could help.” He planted a playful kiss on her ear. “In fact, I think I'd like to help.”

“If you helped, I have a feeling it might take two years.” He was nuzzling her cheek, and her neck. His hands caressed her arms possessively.

“So, it will take two years. I'll make sure you enjoy them.”

She sighed, and relaxed backward. Harry cradled her, rocking them back and forth together in a motion that was provocative and yet sweetly soothing. His warmth embraced her as securely as his arms did. Lazy pleasure unfurled inside her. Unfortunately, her stomach chose that moment to emit a most undignified rumble.

Harry laughed. “Yes, I feel the same.” He ran his palm across her belly. “Fortunately, precautions have been taken.” He released her so that he could bow and gesture toward the sitting room. “If Mrs. Rayburn would care to follow me into breakfast?”

Leannah felt her cheeks blanch. Mrs. Rayburn. It was morning, and she was still Mrs. Rayburn. That was all very well and good. But it was also true that the world still waited right outside the doors, and those doors could not possibly remain closed for much longer.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Leannah shook herself. “I'm sorry, and I'm famished. Please lead the way to breakfast.”

Harry bestowed an uncomfortably thoughtful look on her, but said nothing more.

A round table laid for two had been set before the sitting room fireplace and a lavish breakfast now graced the sideboard. Covered dishes held poached eggs in hollandaise sauce, mutton chops, and cold ham, as well as the rashers of bacon that had smelled so enticing. There were fish croquettes with a boat of their own sauce, stewed greens, conserved fruits, cold rolls, and plum cake still warm from the oven. Of course there was a pot of tea, but there was also one of chocolate and another of coffee.

Leannah stared at the acre of food, and then turned to stare at Harry. He blushed.

“I don't know your tastes yet. I wanted to be sure there was something you'd like.”

“I've married a profligate! I shall be quite spoiled before the week is out.”

“Good.” Satisfaction filled the word. In answer, Leannah felt an odd contraction that she couldn't quite put a name to. “Please, do help yourself.”

Leannah made up her mind to enjoy a hearty meal. She truly was famished, and now that their wicked wedding night had passed, there was certain to be a very long day ahead. Also, the hopeful look in Harry's eyes warned her he would be made anxious if she did not fully partake of his breakfast.

She helped herself to croquettes and bacon, rolls, fruit, and tea. Harry pulled out her chair and saw her settled at her place before he loaded his own plate with chops, ham, eggs, and cake. He favored coffee over tea first thing in the morning and drank it hot and black. A habit, Leannah thought with something perilously close to wifely indulgence, he must have picked up in travels to barbaric foreign parts.

The food was excellent, and any lingering reluctance Leannah might have felt melted away as she tucked in. She did glance several times at Harry. A woman was expected to eat sparingly in public, to demonstrate her native delicacy and the care she took of her figure. But Harry did not appear at all taken aback at her appetite. In fact, he seemed quite pleased at her evident enjoyment of this morning feast he had arranged.

Which raised a question. “Whom do I have to thank for my dressing gown?” Leannah asked.

“Well,” said Harry around a mouthful of ham. “I did say one of the reasons I chose the Colonnade was because they know me here. It was also because I know that some persons keep permanent rooms here. I had a word with Marshall, and it seems that at least one such gentleman is out of town at this time, so we might safely borrow a few necessaries for one night.”

Leannah let all this unspool in her mind. “You bribed the maître d'hôtel to rifle some other gentleman's rooms, and what I am now wearing belongs to his mistress.”

Harry looked pained. “I'll have you know, madam, I went through a lot of trouble not to put it like that.”

“Well, one of you has excellent taste.”

“Actually, I think Lewis made the selection.” He sipped his coffee and eyed her thoughtfully. “Frankly, I would have rather you remained entirely naked, but I was concerned you might take a chill.”

Leannah laughed, even as she felt herself blush. She could all too easily picture herself lounging quite nude on a chair or sofa for Harry's delectation. She'd enjoy it, and if she asked, she was sure he'd return the favor. She was equally sure she'd enjoy that at least as much. She'd barely had any chance to look at him last night before their passions carried them quite away.

“You are a wicked man, Mr. Rayburn.”

“You provoke a man to wickedness, Mrs. Rayburn.”

Leannah stopped. There it was again. Her thoughts would not settle. She was looking on this man with a burning desire. She was already dreaming of new and intensely erotic sport to enjoy with him. But every time he brought up her new name, it fell on her like a splash of icy water.

“Leannah,” said Harry seriously. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “Not really. I just . . . I'm not sure what happens next.”

“Neither am I.”

Leannah frowned and pushed the remains of her bacon around her plate. This seemed a waste of good food, so she speared the last of her rasher with her fork and nibbled at it. She did all this without looking up. She could feel Harry watching her, and the tension growing between them was anything but warm. It was embarrassing. It was ridiculous. She had always prided herself on being able to act decisively no matter what the situation. Now, she couldn't even look at her lover.

This must end. She set her fork down and raised her eyes.

“Well, we are both going to have to go home,” she said. “With Dorothea Plaice on the scent, the whole world will soon hear some version of what's happened. It would be wrong for our families to find out about our marriage via common gossip. I think you said you live with your parents?”

“Yes, and I agree with what you suggest. Do we go separately or together?”

“Would you be hurt if I said separately?”

“No. There's ground that needs to be prepared on both sides, I'm sure. Unless you think your uncle or your sister's already told your father?”

“No, I don't think they would do that.”

Harry glanced at the carriage clock on the mantel. It had gone on half ten. “Father will be at his office already, but my mother and sister don't generally start making the social rounds until one o'clock. That means there's still time to break the news before they hear it in somebody's or the other's parlor. Shall we say we'll meet back here for supper at seven o'clock, perhaps? I've taken the room for a month, to give us time to plan and, well, adjust.”

A month. I've married a man who can casually command a room in a first-class hotel for an entire month.
It should have been exciting, or at least, comfortably reassuring. Instead, another cold wash of guilt threatened.

“I might have to stay,” she told him. “This is going to be a severe shock to my father. If he has a nervous attack, I might not be able to leave at once. We have no regular nurse, you see.”

“I understand. You can send me a note if that's the case. Direct it here. I don't expect to be delayed.” He spoke to the bottom of his coffee cup. “Although, it's impossible to say. So, you'll leave me your direction, just in case?”

There was something unusually strained in the way he said this. Leannah didn't like it. “Of course.”

His sigh held a little too much of relief in it to be entirely comforting. “Assuming all goes well, what then?”

“Then, I think I will need to talk with Meredith Langely. Do you know the Langleys?”

“I've heard of them, of Miss Langely, anyway. She's a sort of—social secretary to the ton at large—isn't she?”

“Something like that. She helps matrons and their daughters organize successful seasons. In return, they invite her and her mother to stay for extended periods, or help with her expenses. It's an odd mode of existence, I'll grant you, but it allows them to manage. She's also a good friend of mine from boarding school.” There was no need yet to explain that her stint at boarding school had been a whim of Father's. He thought that she might be able to make friends with more wealthy and powerful families there than she could being schooled by governesses in their country home.

It had lasted all of six months before she'd had to withdraw, and of the girls she'd met, only Meredith had become any sort of friend.

“The one thing we can be absolutely sure of is that there will be talk,” she said. “Meredith will be able to help us manage it.”

“Help us ride out the storm, you mean?” He nodded. “Yes. There's a great deal of sense in that. I hate having to give a fig about the haut ton and their fastidious attitudes, but I don't want things to be any more uncomfortable for you than necessary.” He got up and helped himself to more ham, and coffee.