The Runaway Countess (36 page)

She hardly recognized herself anymore.

Perhaps because she had been broken into separate parts and pieces. Divided by her grief of the past and longing for the future, slashed by her worry for her brother and her continued betrayal of the man she loved.

She did not know how to harmonize the pieces of herself, the part of her that would fight and the part that would dare to hope. Dare to dream that she need not lose anything, not her happiness and not her freedom. Not her brother and not Trent.

She took the pearl comb out of her hair and placed it on the dressing table.

She wanted to tell Trent the truth.

His pain was in her skin.

Watching him earlier that day, seeing the shock of betrayal that twisted his face, had been like a knife in her heart. What did it mean that she felt his sadness so viscerally?

It meant she loved him.

If she loved him, shouldn’t she trust him? At least try?

It was obvious that he had never suspected the depth of corruption in his county. He was nothing like his father. He had already taken care of Harrington. Certainly he would deal with the others as well.

She unfastened the pearl and diamond earbobs and placed them in the small jewelry box Cat had lent her.

Now that Trent knew the truth of the secret group, he must understand Roane’s motivation. He might be overbearing and stubborn, but Trent was a reasonable man.

Perhaps, if she confessed, he might even come to love her as she loved him.

She would go to him, comfort him about his father. She would offer herself, her body, her heart. Then she would confess.

She would be responsible for herself, as Mrs. Pearl always told her. She would be responsible for her part in this. For her misjudgments.

All would be well in the light of the morning.

But fear held her immobile. She dropped her head into her palms. Not since her parents died had she put her trust so completely in another’s hands. It was terrifying.

But she was making this choice for herself.

With a trembling breath, she stood on unsure legs and walked out her door and down the hallway. She stopped in front of Trent’s door, made a light scratching sound that could barely be heard.

Trent heard it though, for the door soon opened and there he stood, his shirt off, his breeches unbuttoned.

Dear God, she was in trouble.

He raked his gaze over her before meeting her eyes. He lifted a brow in inquiry, his hand on the doorknob.

“I…ah.” Mazie couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t form her thoughts. His chest was muscled and broad and so close. She ached with the need to reach out and touch him. To love him. She jerked her gaze back to his. Fire was lit behind his eyes.

He still stood in the doorway, not inviting her in, but not shutting her out either.

Mazie swallowed and gathered her courage. “May I come in?”

His eyes were heavy lidded as he stepped back.

Mazie noticed her shoulders were tight and forced them to relax as she walked into his room.

How was she to do this?

The heavy fear settled deeper in her core. He could refuse her. Turn her away. Take her trust and abuse it.

She stopped in the middle of his roomhis sitting room, warm blue and brown, more comfortable than ornate. An open door led to his bedroom. From this perspective, all Mazie saw was his bed.

Massive, dark walnut with a blue canopy.

Her heart sped. What was she doing? She glanced at the door to the hallway. Perhaps she should flee back to safety, back to her own self-created world where she was mistress of everything. But it was a lonely world, she now admitted to herself. Sorely lacking in the companionable warmth of another body.

She inhaled and faced Trent. His eyes were deep shadows.

“May I sleep here tonight?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

The silence stretched. He merely watched her, stared in that way of his. She grasped her hands together as she waited.

His chest rose and fell. “As what? My enemy? My lover?”

“As me. Only me.”

“What are you saying, Mazie?”

“I’m saying…I’m….” She bit her lip. This was harder than she had anticipated. “I’m saying I want to trust you. I do trust you. I…I want to make love to you.”

He smiled tight, full of emotion. The same emotion she felt. “You cannot know how tempted I am, hummingbird. But I am not good company tonight.”

She stepped toward him and laid her hand on his bare chest. Wiry hair curled around her fingers. His skin was heat and silk and his heart beat under her hand.

He stepped back and let her hand drop. She gently closed her fingers around the memory of his heartbeat in her palm, as if for safekeeping. The man confused her beyond belief.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.” His voice was quiet, equal parts menace and exhaustion. “How do I know this isn’t part of some plan?”

The flame of her hope flickered, sputtered. Lies, deceit, mistrust, they were bricks piled onto her chest.
I love you.
“I am not here to hurt you. I swear it.”

“Then tell me”

She would tell him later, afterward. She stepped forward again and placed her trembling fingers on his lips. “Let’s not talk of it now.”

Trent did not answer with his voice, but his eyes, his eyes smoldered. Still, he did not reach out for her. He would not make this easy.

The poor man, betrayed by everyone. Hurting.

All she wanted was to love him.

Mazie cradled his face in her hands and kissed him. Softly at first, then long, drugged kisses with her tongue. He kissed her back but did not touch her, did not pull her to him.

Her hands trembling, she touched his chest, slid her palm down to the front of his loosened breeches and slipped her fingers inside. He was already swollen, proud. Tentatively, she touched his cock, cradled it. She slid her hand over the length of him, marveling at the hardness, the heat.

His hips bucked slightly, pressed toward her. She stroked him longer, from tip to base. Derived pleasure from his pleasure. Loved him with her touch.

Finally, he put his hands on hers and pushed her away gently. “I do not suppose this is all you came for?”

She shook her head, not entirely understanding.

“To the bed.” He motioned with a tilt of his head.

She turned, jittery again, and walked through the doorway to his room. Besides a small scattering of furniture, the room was dominated solely by the massive canopied bed. Her breath caught and a fluttering set across her nerves. There were papers scattered over the blue damask counterpane and she bent at the waist, reached across the bed to gather them.

“Don’t move.” A dark growl. “God, Mazie, don’t move.”

Heat wrapped through her core and spread out across her skin. His hands landed on her hips, then silk whispered across her skin as he pulled her shift higher. Silk slid up her legs. All the way up. His hands lifted and he stepped back.

Bent over as she was, Trent had a full view of her buttocks. Maybe even her sex.

She trembled, wanted to cover herself. But she wanted to give him this. Give him everything.

Time stretched and she knew he was looking at her and enjoying the looking. She heard it in his breath, felt it in the room around her. Excited, titillated, she let him stare. The ache grew and spread, throbbing and wet under his gaze. She shifted, squeezed her thighs, sought relief.

His hands landed on her hips but he did not turn her to face him. He held her steady, slid his thumbs down the seam of her sex and opened her with his fingers. Something warm, soft slid up her secret flesh. She cried out, and he did it again. So soft. She tried to move, but he held her still. His breath was on her sex. He laved her with his tongue.
His tongue.
It was beyond shocking, beyond

A thousand tremors shot through her. He found her nub. His tongue fluttered, caressed. Then his teeth scraped her with a sharp burst of sensation. Her arms gave out and her belly fell to the counterpane. She buried her face in the velvet and opened her mouth in a silent scream. He did not let up. He used his smooth tongue, rough beard, shock of teeth, then tongue again. Wanting more, she stood on her tiptoes and arched her back. He pulled it from her, her climax. Pulled and pulled until it pounded through her. He did not stop until she pleaded.

But he did not release her. He stood, rubbed the head of his cock through the swollen lips of her sex. She shifted her hips, trying to get away from the overwhelming pulses still echoing through her. With a long, slow thrust, he slid inside her. She was wet and soft and welcoming.

His thickness grounded her, brought her back into her skin. Back into the wanting.

Then he pulled out, turned her onto her back and gathered her in his arms. Mazie clung to him as he laid her in the center of his bed.

He knelt over her and brushed the hair off her face. She tried to pull him down to kiss her, but he would not budge. She turned her head and licked his wrist instead, savoring his salty skin and wry hair. His grey eyes intent on hers, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead, he slipped into her again. Slowly. He filled her. So slowly. Every inch of his male flesh pressed against her walls.

“Why are you here, Mazie?” His gruff voice raked across her frayed nerves.

She panted, tried to gather her thoughts. “For you.”

“To torment me?”

She held his gaze and slid her palms over the muscles of his shoulders. “To touch you.” She pulled his lips to hers. “To love you.”

He drew her knees up and pressed deeper. She sobbed, or moaned, or some other sound that she could not name, had never heard herself make. He pressed again, deeper than she thought possible, demanded that her body open for him. When she tensed, he leaned down and licked her nipples, melted her.

He thrust again and the feeling pierced straight to her heart, making her feel more naked than nude. It was too much. Too much sensation. Too much vulnerability. Squeezing her eyes closed, she lifted her arms around him, as much pulling him to her as protecting the vulnerable front of her body.

He lay over her, his belly on hers, and caressed the sides of her face, kissed the top of her nose, licked her lower lip.

She wanted to cry. Why did she want to cry?

He lifted his torso away so he was nearly upright. He did not distract her with a kiss, did not arch and move and obliterate the world from her mind. Only slid out, patient, all the way out, before he pressed in again.

Deeper this time. Her body welcomed him even deeper. He touched a spot within that sent hot sparks of pleasure braiding up her spine.

“Open for me,” he murmured, his voice everything gentle.

She shook her head, she couldn’t stand more. She trembled everywhere. Please. The word was on her lips. Please end this.

He shifted his hips, made her arch and cry but did not bring her toward release. He was waiting for something. She did not understand what it was, but it pulled her under, made her feel like she was drowning, dying.

She opened her eyes. Looked up at him. So serious and strong. She touched his face and he turned his head and planted a kiss in her palm.

And she understood what he was waiting for. She felt it within herself, the lies she had told. The untruths and half-truths that had shaped her association with him. The maze within herself that even she could no longer maneuver.

He was waiting for her. Only her. Not the game.

The sharp stubble of his chin was foreign against her palm. She traced the shape of his lips with her fingertips and watched as he gently licked each one.

Fear made her want to pull away. Made her want to close herself up and take herself back to her own bed, safe and secure in the world of her making.

But she couldn’t. God, she couldn’t.

“I’m scared.” It was perhaps the most truthful thing she had ever said to him.

“You are incredible,” he said. “You astonish me.”

He took her hands in his, such big hands, strong and determined.

The quaking in her core started again. Never had she felt so vulnerable, so seen.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

His eyes never left hers as his hips moved, steady and deep. He murmured her name, over and over, a song on his lips. Steady and deep, an even rhythm. She crested, from the point where his cock touched her, outward. Out her limbs, her spine, out her hands and feet. Waves of pleasure arched through her, pounding and curling deep within, rolling and rolling without cease, washing her open, washing her out to a sea of bliss.

He did not take long. His head thrown back, her name still on his lips, he spilled his seed within her. Panting and exhausted, he fell to the bed beside her, as if he had run a great distance. He pulled her into his arms, nuzzled into her hair and fell asleep.

“I love you, Trent,” she whispered hours later when his breathing was even and he was long into dreaming. “I love you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two