Chapter 19
S ilas woke alone in Arabella’s big bed. He reached for her, eyes still half-closed, and she wasn’t there. With a sigh, he rolled over on his back and stared at the velvet canopy above him.
He’d shared passionate nights with her, of course. Given all his body, and even some of his soul. But nothing had been more powerful to him then the trust she’d shown last night. Her story was painful, her tears were heartbreaking, but somehow she’d let herself give them to him.
And he would never be the same.
He heard movement coming from the room adjacent to the bedchamber and sat up on his elbows a little as the door opened. Arabella stepped through. She was no longer in her clothing from the previous night, but in a silky robe, her hair down around her shoulders.
She looked at him and for a moment there was nothing but vulnerability there on her lovely face. Then she smiled and the mask was back, though perhaps not as firmly as before.
“Good morning,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” he said. “I was just waking up all on my own.”
“Good.” She worried the tie of her robe. “Perhaps you’d like to share that big bath with me this morning?”
He didn’t have to be asked twice. He was up and on his feet in an instant, coming around the bed to her. “That is the best offer I’ve had in a long time.”
She held his gaze a moment, desire readable there but little else. Still, her slow smile was pure seduction as she pushed closer to him, reaching up to unbutton his shirt. “I aim to please.”
He bent his head and kissed her. Her fingers dug into his chest as she let out a low, shivering sigh of pleasure.
There was part of him that wanted to push, to talk more about what he’d uncovered about her past the previous night.
But she clearly wanted to regain some control and this was how she would do it.
So he surrendered to her, just as she wished and didn’t resist as she drew him into her dressing room without ever parting her lips from his. He tugged the shirt over his head and then gathered her against his chest again, deepening the kiss, gasping as her nails raked gently against his skin.
She wedged a hand between them and stroked his length with her palm. “We should have done this last night,” she whispered against his lips.
He pulled back a fraction and looked down into her eyes. “We did exactly what we should have done last night.”
She smiled, but it wobbled a fraction. Then she grasped his shoulders and turned him.
His eyes widened as she did. Against the back wall of the dressing room was the famous tub she’d been telling him about.
It was huge, definitely large enough for two to share comfortably.
The inside was brass shined to a gleam and it was currently filled with steaming water with rose petals sprinkled along the surface.
“Well, this is what I want to do this morning.”
As an answer, he unfastened his trousers and tugged them off. He was already half-hard just from touching her and she gave a satisfied smile as she caught him in hand again and stroked once, twice. Fully hard now. It was just that easy with her.
“Get in,” she ordered.
He did so without argument. He wanted to share that tub with her for one, but he also could see the edginess to her. He wasn’t going to steal her control.
Not this way, at any rate.
He sank into the perfectly warm water and dunked his head under, slicking back his hair when he resurfaced. She had remained where she was and now she untied her robe and let it fall away to reveal all those gorgeous curves a man could lose himself in forever.
She sashayed forward, putting a little more twitch in her hips as she did so.
Then she dipped one foot into the bath, then the other and sank in, facing him in his lap.
She caught up the soap and lathered it between her hands.
As she did so he cupped her backside and massaged it, rocking her against him without making any effort to take her.
He could have. But they had all morning for that.
She let out a little gasp that told him he was loosening her control just like she was loosening his, but she kept eye contact with him as she set her soap away and began to glide the bubbles over his chest.
“It won’t work,” he whispered as she let her hands go under the water and stroke his stomach muscles, then up his sides. The soap made the slide of them slicker and easier.
“What won’t work?”
“I’ll never be clean, not really,” he said. “My thoughts of you alone are entirely filthy.”
She laughed then and it was real, not something put on like a mask to cover herself. He couldn’t help but grin at coaxing that from her.
“Well, then we’ll be dirty together,” she said. “Because I certainly have some very dirty thoughts about you, too.”
He let his fingers play along her backside, against the rosette of her bottom and then lower, between her legs where she was hot and ready for him. “I can tell.”
She lifted up, taking him inside of her slowly, almost gently.
When he was fully seated in her satiny heat, she went back to washing him.
He took the soap as she did so and lathered his own hands.
They worked together then, teasing in the guise of cleaning, a blur of clenching fingers and heated flesh.
And she never looked away. Not once as he memorized her curves and lines.
At last, she cupped his cheeks in her soapy fingers and then her mouth found his.
That was when she moved, rocking over him, grinding against him as her breath got shorter and heavier in the quiet of the dressing room.
He lifted beneath her, creating waves in the deep tub that sloshed over the edge occasionally.
The grip of her was so good. It didn’t matter how many times they did this, every time he was always stunned by how good she felt. Like a homecoming. Her legs were starting to shake and her lips broke from his with a soft moan of pleasure.
“That’s not enough,” he whispered, and reached between them to circle his thumb around her clitoris as she rode him. “I want more than that.”
Her soft sounds became louder and she rode him faster.
She arched her back, grinding over him, using him and pleasuring him in the same heavy strokes.
When she came, it was volcanic, a sudden rush of gripping heat and pleasure that shot up the length of him.
He grasped her hips, leaned his head forward to press his mouth to the sweet hollow between her wet breasts and let her ride out the crisis as she wailed and moaned and at last whimpered his name.
He pushed her from him as the pleasure became too much, sliding her backward on his lap so that he popped free before he came in great gasping gulps that were lost in her mouth when she kissed him.
Their bodies were still tangled for a while afterward, her legs wrapped around him, his fingers stroking out a pattern along her spine as their panting breaths merged and slowed between kisses.
“Breakfast?” she whispered at last.
He chuckled as he leaned up to kiss her damp temple. “Sounds perfect,” he said.
They took their time getting ready. She straightened him and tied his cravat, he fastened her even though she had those magical gowns that she could put on and take off without help. The fact she let him felt meaningful in some way.
But in not a very long time, they exited her chamber together and came down not to the formal dining room where he’d broken bread with her sisters the night before, but to a smaller, cozier breakfast room. As he settled himself in and watched her pour them each tea, he really looked at the room.
The rest of her house was made to be seen. The chambers she’d opened to him over the weeks were perfectly decorated and inviting, with bold colors and artwork that reflected her sensual nature and position in life.
But this room was something different. It was private, he thought. Something she perhaps only shared with her sisters. It was full of light and the tea set was mismatched and she looked more at home when she sat at that table than he’d ever seen her.
The door to the room opened and a maid entered. She bobbed out a nod and then said, “Mrs. Barnaby has ham and eggs if that suits.”
“Perfect,” Arabella said with a kind smile. “How is Regina today?”
“She had the baby around four, Miss Comerford,” the maid said. “A boy she named Thomas. They’re resting now and she’s doing very well.”
“Wonderful,” Arabella said. “I’ll come check in on them later today. I’m sure the staff is taking good care of them.”
“The very best.” The maid left then.
“Your nature is to take care of others,” Silas said, and sipped his tea.
She glanced at him, the little edge of her guard coming up. “I suppose so. Old habits.”
“I think there’s sweetness under all that wild,” he said.
She arched a brow. “If you spread that rumor, Silas Windham, I will never forgive you.”
He laughed but he refused to discount the merit of the statement.
Not to her or to himself. Seeing her like this, at ease in her surroundings, put him to mind of when he’d found her in her hair cloths weeks ago.
There was something so genuine to it all, a piece of her she only shared with those close to her.
If he fit that description in any way, he knew that made him a very lucky man.
They ate for a while, he kept the conversation light. She seemed to need it after they’d gone so deep the night before. They were just finishing up with their food, when Barnaby returned to the breakfast room, his lips turned down and a letter on a tray.
“This just arrived, Miss Comerford.”
She looked up and her cheeks paled a little at her butler’s expression. She took the letter and read the address. Then her own lips pursed and she set it face down beside her plate.
“Is anything wrong?” Silas asked.
She looked at him, there was a brief hesitation, then she shook her head. “Nothing at all.”
He wanted to push, because it was clear the letter troubled her. He thought of what she’d said about her father writing notes of threat and vitriol and wondered if this was one of those. But he could feel her pulling away, putting up walls and distance between them again.
And he found he didn’t want that.
“Why don’t you come to supper at my house tonight?” he said. Then he cleared his throat and added, “I’m expecting my brothers. You could meet Charlie.”
She sucked in a short breath. “Silas, no. That cannot end any better than the last time I met with Lord Reginald.”
“I see you with your family,” he said, covering her hand with his. “You are…you. Truly yourself. I do want that with my brothers. And I want what I saw when Phoebe met you. She saw me for who I truly was through your eyes. I want to ask them to do the same. And accept that version of me at last.”
She shut her eyes. “They cannot want a person like me around, Silas.”
“Then I’ll tell them to go to hell. Again.” He squeezed her hand and she looked at him. “Please.”
She looked almost stricken at the request for a moment, but then she nodded slowly. “Very well. If that’s your request, I couldn’t turn you down.”
He leaned forward and kissed her gently. “Thank you.” Then he got up. “I must go make some preparations for the night. Will you come at seven?”
She got up and led him to the foyer. “Yes. Seven. I’ll be there.”
He kissed her again and then smiled as Barnaby opened the door just as his horse was brought around. As if the man had anticipated his need. What a concept in comparison to the servant who despised him back at his own place.
Still, none of that could trouble him now. Not after last night. Not after her.
So he rode off with a spring to his spirit and a hope in his heart for that night. One he couldn’t deny was all about the woman who was waving to him from her front step as he rode away from her.