The Marrying Season (17 page)

“Come here,” Myles told her sternly, pulling her up onto her knees. He reached down and grasped her gown, whisking it off over her head.

“Myles!” Instinctively, her hands moved to cover herself.

“No, none of that.” He put his arm around her and eased her back onto the rug. Reclining on his elbow beside
her, he took her chin in his hand and looked down into her eyes. “Now . . . we have discussed the beauty of your hair, how it flows like the palest, finest gold, like pure sunlight.”

He took a lock, rubbing it between his fingers and letting it drift down slowly, catching the glow of the fire. He curved his forefinger over her brows and cheeks and nose. “And we’ve touched on the perfection of your face, the porcelain beauty of your skin, the pale rose of your cheeks.” His finger traced the lines of her lips. “The sweet curve of your lips.” Myles kissed her lips lightly. “Matched only by the sweetness inside.” His mouth returned in a deeper kiss, his tongue teasing her lips open. “And that chin.” He kissed the part in question. “A very Stafford chin, always leading the way. Your neck.” He stroked his finger over her chin and down the line of her throat. “Long and elegant.”

“Like a giraffe.”

“Like Nefertiti,” he corrected. “It is an invitation to a man’s mouth, a delicate pathway down to what he most desires.” He laid feathery kisses down her neck, his fingers gliding down to drift across her breast.

Genevieve clapped her hands over her breasts, saying. “I am flat, like a boy.” She turned her head away, her jaw setting mulishly.

“Like no boy I have ever seen,” Myles retorted with a grin. He slid his hand across her chest, slipping beneath Genevieve’s hand and cupping her breast. “Your breasts are perfect, exactly right to fit into my palm, firm
and round, like the most succulent fruit, and tasting of heaven.” He bent over her, kissing her breasts, pulling the nipple into his mouth with a languid suction, his tongue working on it, so that when at last he pulled away, the bud thrust up hard and red and glistening. “With the most delicious raspberry on top.” He gave the same treatment to her other nipple, and the movement of his mouth seemed to pull at a chord in her that tugged all the way down through her, inciting the damp heat between her legs.

He leaned back on his elbow, surveying her body like a man studying a treasure. Genevieve watched him, torn between embarrassment and pride, and vying with both, hot desire thrummed in her, stroked into being by the caress in his gaze. He ran his hand slowly over her breasts and stomach, curving over the bony ridges of her pelvis and onto the long line of her thighs.

“Your body is lithe and lovely, your legs so long, so firm, that a man could drive himself mad thinking of them wrapping around him.” His eyes flashed gold as he looked into her face. “As they did to me only hours ago.”

Genevieve gazed back at him, unable to tear her eyes away. Her breath came shallowly in her throat. His words made desire coil in her abdomen as surely as his touch. She realized that she was waiting, every nerve alive, her pulse throbbing, aching for him take her.

“I have imagined you naked for years now.”

“Myles!” Her eyes widened. “Really? But you never said anything—”

“Tell my friend’s sister that I desired her?” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “ ’Tis not the sort of thing one reveals to a gently reared young girl. But still, I thought of you. Whenever I held you in my arms during a waltz. When I saw you standing across the room at a gala. Or even just sitting in your drawing room. I thought of how you would look beneath your frock, peeling your garments from you piece by piece. I imagined the curve of your breasts, your hips, the shallow dip of your belly. And I wondered whether your hair was the same silver gilt below as it was above.”

His fingers crept down, tangling in the curls at the apex of her legs. Genevieve drew in a shaky breath at the touch of his hand on the soft flesh, separating and exploring the slick folds. Without her thinking, her legs moved apart, giving him access to her innermost secrets. He propped his head on his hand, leaning on his elbow, his eyes intent on her face, as his fingers aroused her, teasing and tormenting the spiral of hunger inside her into ever tighter and tighter coils. Genevieve could not hold back a whimper as passion shimmered in her, stretching achingly close to that peak of release. She pushed up against his hand, her hips circling.

“No, not just yet.” His finger slid away from the hot center of her desire. He bent to kiss her mouth while his fingers again stoked the flames in her, bringing her nearer and nearer to the edge. He raised his head. “Almost there, love. I want to watch it take you. To see you melt into pleasure.”

“Myles . . .” Her head turned restlessly against the rug, the movement of her hips urging him on.

Then it struck her, pleasure so hard and intense she groaned, convulsing helplessly. As the tide of pleasure rushed through her, her body relaxed, turning so limp and liquid she felt as if she could melt into the floor. She gazed up at Myles, her eyes lambent and faintly dazed. His features were taut with desire, his whiskey-brown eyes alight with golden depths.

Genevieve reached up, putting her hand on his chest. His flesh burned as hot as his eyes. She moved her hand across him lazily. “Don’t you want—”

“Oh, I want.” He grinned and bent and kissed the corner of her mouth. “If you are ready?”

“I’m not sure I can move.”

He shucked off his breeches, revealing exactly how ready he was. Taking her hips in his hands, he tugged her up and over to straddle him, making Genevieve’s eyes widen in surprise. He guided her as she sank slowly onto him, delighting in the way she fit around him.

“What do I do?” she asked, though instinctively her hips began to circle slowly.

Pleasure flickered across his face. “Whatever you wish. Lead the way.”

“Whatever I wish?” Her eyes lit up with devilry. She ran a fingernail down the center line of his chest.

“Indeed. I am sure you will enjoy tormenting me.”

“Myles . . .” she said in a playfully scolding tone, lifting up, then gliding back down in a slow dance that turned
his breath ragged. “One would think I were quite wicked, the way you talk.”

He slid his hands up and down her thighs, his movements growing ever more restless as Genevieve experimented with this newfound pleasure. She knew now what he had meant earlier, for it excited her to watch his face change with each new sensation, holding out against the driving hunger until it built to almost unbearable heights. Then the pleasure took him, and he jerked against her, holding her hips in place as he thrust hard and fast, and Genevieve found that, amazingly, she, too, was swept with passion all over again, tumbling with him into the same dark abyss of pleasure.

She collapsed upon him, her breath rasping in her throat, and he wrapped his arms around her. They held each other, spent and at peace.

M
yles stood at the window,
watching Genevieve stroll toward the cottage. They had found a wild plum bush not far from the falls, and while he was bringing in the food from the cold cellar, she had gone there to pick plums for dessert. She was wearing a simple cotton frock, and her feet were bare. Her silvery hair tumbled around her shoulders, shimmering in the sun. She carried the plums in her skirts, gathered up in front, and her long legs were bare from the knees down. The lack of any sign of a petticoat or undergarment told him that she had thrown on only her dress after their swim.

His groin tightened at the sight of her, as seemed to be the case so often this week. He had known that Genevieve stirred his senses, and their verbal sparring was exhilarating, so he had hoped that theirs would be a marriage that carried far more than convenience in its wake. However, he had not been prepared for how thoroughly she aroused him in almost every way. They had spent a week here at the cottage, and during that time they had explored the mysteries of the marital bed, making love
whenever and however the fancy struck them. And Genevieve, despite her initial shyness, had been a willing and adventurous partner, even if she often protested in shock before she plunged ahead into some new delight.

She had awakened sensually during their days together, and the cool correctness of her demeanor had melted away. She laughed and teased, giving as good as she got. This morning he had been astonished—and delighted—when she had awakened him with caresses, initiating their lovemaking. Looking at her now, he had to wonder when, if ever, she had walked like this down a country path, hatless and disheveled. She looked, he thought, more like a mistress going to her love nest than the daughter of an earl.

Genevieve saw him watching and waved saucily. Myles went to meet her and greeted her with a kiss. She chuckled, shoving at him with her shoulder.

“Stop. You shall make me drop my hard-won plums. I had to climb that little tree to get the best of them.”

“I am sure they are worth it.” He peered down into the basket formed by her skirt and selected one of the deep purple fruits. He bit into the warm, sweet flesh, the juices trickling over his tongue. “Mm. Almost as sweet as you, Lady Thorwood.” He bent to kiss her again.

“Delicious.” Genevieve ran her tongue over her lip, and desire pinched at him again.

“The kiss or the plum?”

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Enough of that. What about the rest of our supper?”

“Cheese, bread, and wine to go along with our plums, as well as a bit of sausage.”

“It’s rather like having the fairies flit in and take care of you, isn’t it?” She smiled and bit into one of the plums, and the sight of her white teeth piercing the plump flesh sent lust corkscrewing through him.

Myles wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her into him, burying his lips in hers. When at last he raised his head, Genevieve’s face was flushed, her eyes a pale blue flame.

“Would that we could stay another week,” he murmured, then sighed and stepped back. “However, we are almost out of supplies. I fear that we must go on to the manor house tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Genevieve’s face fell.

“ ’Twill not be so bad,” he assured her as he opened the door for her. “You will, I think, like having a maid and your own clothes. The house is not as grand as Cleyre, of course.” His eyes twinkled at her as he went on, “But neither is it so drafty.”

“I am sure Thorwood Park is lovely.” Genevieve set the plums down on the table.

“Then what is it, love?” Myles took her hand, leading her over to the chair and sitting down, pulling her down into his lap. Genevieve leaned against him, her head nestling on his shoulder. He had come to realize that it was a most enjoyable sensation.

Genevieve hesitated, then said softly, “I dread meeting your mother.”

“My mother?” Myles’s voice vaulted upward in amazement. “Good heavens, why?”

Genevieve sat up and fixed him with a sardonic gaze. “Because I have ensnared her son in a scandalously hasty marriage, that is why.”

“There is no need to worry. Lady Julia is the most amiable of women.”

“I am sure she is. And I am sure you have no need to worry. Mothers do not blame their
sons
for such things. She will regard it as entirely my fault . . . and the worst of it is that she will be right.”

“My mother is well used to my fits and starts; she will put any unseemly rush down to my own impulsiveness. She wants me to be happy, and she has been hinting for at least five years now that it is time I marry. She will like you. I promise.” He kissed her lightly on the lips, and his eyes darkened. “Now, I suggest that we make the most of the time which is left to us. . . .” His arms went around her as he pulled her in for a deeper kiss.

Genevieve knew that Myles believed
his assurances that his mother would like Genevieve, but privately she had her doubts. The woman would be bound to resent Genevieve for pulling her beloved only son into this scandal. Throughout the ride to the house, the nerves in her stomach tangled into ever-worse knots. It had been so sweet in their little cottage, but now life would go back to normal.

There would be no more lazy, intimate evenings sitting about in a shockingly disheveled manner, no rambles
through the trees or dips into the pool. They would again have to take their places, both in the household and in society. What had pleased Myles on their secluded honeymoon would not do for his wife and the lady of the manor. Though it was the role for which she had been groomed all her life, Genevieve could not help but feel vaguely downcast at the idea of assuming it.

They left the sheltered valley and made their way through the fields and meadows, coming at last through a pleasant stand of trees and out onto a wide expanse of grass. Across the wide lawn stood a rambling house in a hodgepodge of styles and materials—Tudor timber-framed plaster, red brick, and even stone, much of it covered in crawling ivy, all jutting off in different directions—all of it, amazingly, somehow fitting together into a warm and welcoming whole. It was a far cry from the looming stone fortifications of Castle Cleyre, and had Genevieve been more at ease, she might well have found it charming. As it was, Genevieve’s chest tightened so that she could only hope that she did not embarrass herself by fainting.

Myles dismounted and helped Genevieve down, turning their mounts over to the groom who had come running. As they started toward the house, a jumble of people poured out of the front door. Genevieve’s steps faltered for an instant, and Myles gave her hand a comforting squeeze. The crowd at the door resolved itself into a group of children, with a plainly dressed woman hurrying after them, calling out cautions.

“Uncle Myles! Uncle Myles!” all of them were shouting,
interspersed with squeals and whoops of joy. It seemed impossible that only three of them could make so much noise.

The two smaller children, a girl and a boy, outstripped the older girl, whose sense of dignity (or the stern admonitions of the governess) apparently kept her from racing. The boy launched himself straight at Myles. Genevieve froze, but Myles let go of her hand and stepped forward nimbly, reaching down to catch the child and lift him high in the air.