Chapter 7
MELLIE COULD NOT remove her stare from Brigham.
He was everything she’d always wanted. He alone was the one man who could provide her with protection, security, comfort—and, dare she dream…
love. However, even in this moment, she sensed him retreating into his proper, gentlemanly shell.
The mask he always wore in her presence.
He could not hide his desire for her. His need was evident. There was no masking the throbbing manhood in his trousers or the scorching arousal apparent in his intense stare.
The time gifted to them did not allow for games or distractions. She would not stand by while Brigham sidestepped her and denied them both what they so evidently needed.
Tightening her arms around his neck once more, Mellie brought his lips to hers as she pushed to her tiptoes. Besides a chaste kiss in their youth, she’d never kissed another—and she certainly enjoyed kissing Brigham, as well as the power she felt as he melted in her arms during their embrace.
For once, she was taking the lead in their relationship. She was in control, and she dictated when, where, and how far this intimacy went.
She was a vixen, a siren, utterly wanton…and Mellie didn’t care a whit.
Brigham’s touch did this to her. It was as hot as the blaze in the hearth and thawed the frozen bits of her heart.
With their mouths pressed close once more, Mellie parted her lips, and immediately, his tongue shot forward, exploring and tangling with hers as, all the while, she nestled her body closer to his.
But his hands no longer remained on her backside, caressing and massaging her trembling flesh.
Instead, with aching slowness, he moved his palms to her waist and slid his light touch up her sides to the curve of her heaving bosom.
Despite her many layers of clothing, Mellie felt his fingers as they journeyed upward—felt the heat of his touch.
She sighed into his mouth as he reached behind her and popped her buttons from their holds—one at a time with swift fingers. Never once did he pull his lips from hers, and never once did the rhythm of their kiss veer off course.
Blessedly, her bodice loosened, giving Mellie the opportunity to breathe in deeply. When her chest expanded, her breasts pushed more firmly against his chest, fighting for space as Brigham took not even a step away from her.
The warm air provided by the hearth washed over her now bare skin at her shoulders.
She pulled back a mere inch. “Brigham?”
Mellie was uncertain what question she asked: that he stop and allow her a moment to breathe, or speed up and ravish her with all due haste.
Brigham trailed light kisses across her cheek and down her neck, nipping along the way.
She had no desire for him to stop, but she was also hesitant to increase their tempo.
Instead, Brigham made the decision for her and slowed their pace as his lips moved farther down and over her clavicle to her mounded cleavage.
All the while, his hand tugged at the shoulder of her gown, exposing more of her heated skin to his touch.
There was nothing for her to do but throw her head back and revel in his caresses, concentrate on his every touch, and pray to the Lord above that her knees did not buckle beneath her.
Brigham trailed his lips along her shoulder and down her arm as he inched the bodice of her gown ever lower. It was his turn to torture her as his breath stroked the globes of her heavy breasts—sweet, sweet agony.
Her eyes sprang open, and her entire body tensed as his lips gently grazed her budded nipple.
A shiver threatened to have her collapsing before him as wave after wave of pure, raw, pleasure coursed through her and pooled between her clenched thighs.
Was this what women hurried to their wedded bed for each night?
A part of her screamed that there was more to come, far more pleasure to be had.
This was what she’d longed to give Brigham. The only gift that was hers to give, as it were. Her. And, if she were blessed, a Whitmore heir.
As it was, they would both reap much happiness and pleasure from their union.
An uninhibited moan escaped her when Brigham latched on to her nipple and gently suckled through the fabric of her bodice, his hand delicately kneading her still-covered breast.
She tilted to the side, her legs finally giving in to the pleasure, but Brigham was there to hold her upright as his lips began their journey back up, over her mounded breast, to her neck. The air in the room brushed her sensitive, hardened peak and a pant caught in her throat.
The urge to push him back down toward her bust, demand he apply his skills ever more to her as yet still bodice and shift-covered breast, was nearly more than she could suppress as she sucked in a ragged breath.
“Yes, this…this…” She could barely force the words past her kiss-swollen lips. “Brigham, I—“
“Shhh,” he whispered at her throat. “I know what you want.”
How could he know what she wanted when Mellie hadn’t any idea?
But his kisses and scorching touch continued. This was the way of things between them: they spoke of trivial things to mask what they truly had need to discuss. And now, he plied her with pleasure beyond her wildest dreams, making speech unimportant.
There was so much Mellie longed to tell Brigham, though… before it was too late.
If they had only this brief, intimate moment she wanted him to know that she gave herself freely and with no reservations.
“Brigham.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. “I have been so blessed by your kindness. I seek to give you the heir you deserve.” Mellie paused, pulling air into her lungs as his hand stilled at her breast. “This is the only gift I have to give, to repay you for all you’ve done for me.”
He pulled his mouth from her cheek, and his hands dropped to his sides.
“Brigham?” Mellie took a step toward him, seeking to bring him back to her, but he moved away as his head fell to his hands—hands that had only a moment before been giving her immense pleasure.
“This is about an heir?” he demanded in a low, calm voice.
“Yes, but I—“
“You think I came to Hockcliffe in want of an heir?” He pivoted away from her and retrieved his glasses from the table, jamming them on his face with more force than necessary. “You think my only motivation in coming here was to bed you?”
Mellie’s mind reeled at his sudden anger as she attempted to wrap her mind around what was transpiring between them. “Does not every lord seek an heir?”
“No lord is foolish enough to believe they can beget an heir without a proper marriage first.”
But they were properly wed, were they not?
“I did not come here to bed you, Melloria.”
A treacherous sob broke free from her lips as she covered her flaming face with her hands.
She’d known all along this could very well be the outcome.
Years had passed since they wed, and never once had either of them sought comfort or pleasure in the arms of the other.
It could only mean that Brigham had searched for those things with another outside their marriage.
She could not, would never, blame him for finding love and affection elsewhere.
Brigham was a man with needs; needs Mellie had been unable to fulfill either physically or emotionally.
Was there another woman he sought to birth his child?
Without another glance at Brigham, she turned and fled the cottage, leaving the door open in her wake—escaping into the icy cold December morning, her cloak and gloves forgotten, her attire in disarray.
Mellie hadn’t a direction in mind, nor was she capable of such focus as she ran through the biting wind, its frigid tendrils lashing at her face and exposed skin.
Clumsily, she kept moving as she pulled up her gown to cover her, but clasping the buttons at her back proved impossible as she stumbled over the hem of her dress.
Righting herself, she sped on, never glancing behind her.
For what would injure her more: his initial rejection and horror at her words, or that he didn’t chase after her?