Chapter 11 #3
“Never fear, Chloe,” he said gently, running a tender hand across her cheek, “I won’t leave you aching. Come, let us find our end.”
Thrust met thrust, slowly at first as they learned each other, gentle and caring. But then need took over and they raced to an explosion that tore Chastity’s mind asunder.
She floated up from that darkness and sucked air into her empty lungs, knowing she would never be the same again. She was scoured clean, both full and empty, dazed and yet alive as never before.
He sprawled on top of her, breathing deeply, hot and sweaty. When he stirred, they were stuck together by sweat, juice, and cream, and had to peel themselves apart. Cooler air brushed over her damp skin and she laughed with delight.
He leaned over her, eyes dark and mysterious, but smiling at her pleasure. “One thing’s for sure, my Chloe, you’ve had oafs in your bed before. Why waste all this glory on them?”
She wanted to tell him the truth, but it would shatter a golden moment. And she wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t beat her for the lie she’d told, even though it had been the truth. “I was an ignorant fool,” she said.
He shielded his eyes and ran a hand down her arm. “And now?”
“And now I know better.”
“And what will you do with that knowledge?”
She knew then what she must do. He didn’t think he was the first, but he knew—heaven knew how—that he’d been the first to show her that ecstasy.
Now he felt responsible, as if he had taken her maidenhead.
Knight-errantry again. Did he try to help every wounded stray in his path?
He already had Verity, William, and Charles on his hands; he didn’t need a lascivious Chloe to fret over.
She must cut him free.
She eased to a sitting position. “I’ll know my worth from now on,” she said frankly. “I’ll not give my favors lightly in the future.”
His hand rested on her thigh. “Is that a promise?”
She nodded. She wished, quite desperately, that she could speak the thoughts of her heart—that she loved him and could never imagine these intimacies with any other man, no matter how skillful. She longed for a moment of honesty between them, just once.
But this night was all they would ever have and honesty would ruin it.
And this night wasn’t over yet.
She looked thoughtfully at his penis, limp against his thigh. He chuckled and said, “Soon, I have no doubt.”
He sat up and pulled off her soiled and creased chemise, wrapping them both in the quilt. To snuggle with him like this was an unexpected bliss, perhaps more than she could handle. Certainly more than she could willingly forgo . . .
He poured them more wine. “Tell me about yourself.”
Chastity hadn’t bargained on conversation. “Would you pluck out the heart of my mysteries, then?”
“Yes, indeed. I’d strip you to your very soul.”
She shivered. “Why don’t you tell me your secrets first, milord.”
“My secrets . . .” He stared into the glowing fire. “Is it a secret that I’m often afraid before battle? It’s not one to my fellow soldiers because we all share the weakness. Only a fool lacks fear. I don’t fear death. I fear maiming.”
Chastity clenched her hands on her glass. Death was the last thing she wanted to talk of. “Do you not have any less military secrets?”
He slid her a glance. “Do you want a list of my lovers?”
She certainly did not. “Is that the total of your interests? Love and war?”
“Perhaps. How long does it take, I wonder, to know someone? To fall in love.”
Chastity gazed into the secret world of the fire. “A moment, or forever.”
“True enough. Now, you owe me a secret.”
She shook her head. “I am made entirely of secrets and mysteries, and if I give away one, I will fall apart.”
Like an explosion, he pulled her to her feet, dragged her over to a small speckled mirror on the wall, and held her there.
She saw them both, naked, made strange by rippled glass and flickering light.
He was Cyn, his hair rippling to his naked shoulders; she was a mystery, even to herself.
This woman with her dusty dark hair, mask, and swollen lips was no one she knew.
“Watch,” he said, “and I will show you mysteries.”
He began to touch her with skillful thoroughness, all the time watching her watch this strange wanton woman in the mirror melt into desire.
Her head fell back against his shoulder.
Her lips parted. Her bosom rose and fell with deep, hungry breaths.
She looked at him in the glass. He was not swamped by desire, but watchful.
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“Liar.”
“I don’t like leaving you behind. Come with me.”
He nipped her shoulder. “I can discover all the secrets of your body and use them to shatter you into pieces, but you will not fall apart. You will be stronger for it.”
She tried to resist his skillful touch. “That’s not the same.”
He increased the pressure of his hand between her thighs, and a shudder overwhelmed her will. “It’s the same,” he said. “Tell me your secrets.”
Another wave of aching desire rippled through her. She closed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“All of you. Trust me.”
She spread her legs. “I trust you.”
His hand stopped. “Not for that. Trust me with yourself.”
She shook her head. “I have nothing for you, Cyn Malloren.” She broke free and ran, swooping down to catch up her clothing. He brought her down on the mattress, weighing down her body with his own, her wrists in his grasp.
His eyes were dark. “This is not the end.”
“I told you, I have nothing more.”
“Yes, you have. I want all of you. I want your secrets.”
Chastity struggled. “You’re mad!”
“Indeed I am. Can’t you feel it, what’s in this room, damn you? After this, can you go to another man?”
“I won’t go to another man!”
“Trust me!” He kissed her with passion. Chastity kissed him back as she wept. This time the tears leaked out of the mask and he drank them from her cheeks. “Cry, cry for us, Chloe. Whatever else, you’ll never forget this.”
He made love to her again, with mouth and hands, and every nerve in his body. At first she struggled against the passion, fearing the wildness of it, the violence of his intent, but then she surrendered.
He would not let it be easy. Twice he brought her high, then stopped despite her pleas, cooling her with wine and cream until reality returned, a reality full of longing.
She swore at him, hit out at him.
He turned her gently and massaged her back, using the cream for lubrication, until she turned languid and floating, and found a kind of peace. Then he pushed her up on her knees and touched her from behind until she gasped with need once more.
“Devil take you, Cyn Malloren,” she whispered, “if you let me down again.”
He laughed and slid to lie under her, looking up at her. “Fly for yourself then, Chloe. Ride me.”
She straddled him and engulfed him with hungry urgency, sliding up and down him with the sweetest friction in the world. She watched him dissolve, but she’d learned her lessons well. With supreme willpower, she stopped, hovering over him.
His eyes flew open. His fists clenched. “Oh, sweet wanton harpy from hell . . . Do I have to beg?”
“Yes,” she said.
His eyes were nothing but darkness. “Please,” he whispered.
Chastity settled again and sent them soaring.
They slept. Chastity woke half over Cyn with the quilt dragged roughly on top of them. The fire was dead, and the light through the dusty window suggested the first touches of dawn. She eased up cautiously, shivering in the chill air, but he didn’t stir.
She could hardly see him in the gray light and wanted to desperately. She reached to touch him but pulled her hand back. Tears choked her at the knowledge that this was the end. After this night, she’d have to flee.
Hardly breathing, she slipped into the chemise, petticoat, and gown. She carried the stomacher for it would be too difficult to struggle into here. She doubted she would meet anyone at this dead hour of the night, but if so, in the gloom, the clothes she had on should do.
She retrieved her key from under the mattress and eased open the door, wincing as it creaked. He still didn’t stir. She slipped out, down the narrow stairs, and fled back to Lord Heatherington’s room.
Cyn opened his eyes as soon as she left. This was certainly a cold, bleak aftermath to the most heated night of his life. He closed his eyes and relived it, not proud of all of it, but aware that in the end it had been good.
One thing was certain—he could not now live without her; he could not let her live without him.
The pain had been physical when he’d recognized the perfume worn by Gresham’s whore. He’d felt as if all the pleasures of life had turned to dross because his damsel was a wanton, not a misjudged angel. He’d stolen her from his friend more with a mind to vengeance than pleasure.
He’d been prepared to be disgusted by a whore’s tricks, and had been seduced by gallant ignorance. He’d truly expected to have her confess to being a virgin, and been prepared, at great cost to his sanity, to leave her one. Even as he’d entered her he’d expected to find that she’d lied.
And been disappointed to find her truthful.
But it didn’t take much to steal virginity, after all, and it was clear as day she was no practiced trollop. Perhaps there’d just been Vernham . . .
He shook his head and smiled. She was doubtless sneaking back to her identity as Charles.
It would be hard, but he’d leave her in it until he’d worked out what best to do.
The future would not be easy. The world would stare at a Malloren marrying a ruined woman, and Rothgar would do his damnedest to stop him.
But despite the world, despite Rothgar, despite everything, he’d have her, and keep her, and make her sing with delight night and day. There’d be difficulties, but difficulties kept away boredom.
He stood up and stretched, feeling king of the world. He whistled as he dressed and tidied their unlikely love-nest.