Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A t some point during the kiss, Horatio collapsed to his knees, though he barely registered the damp, unyielding ground beneath him. The sharp sting of his injuries—the burning in his side, the throbbing ache of his forearm—faded to a distant memory, eclipsed entirely by the sensation of Juliet's lips. He was utterly lost in her warmth.
The rain had slicked her hair, the dark strands clinging to her face and neck in wild, tangled rivulets. Her drenched gown clung to her body like a second skin, revealing the sinuous curve of her hips and the lush swell of her breasts with tantalizing clarity. Her chilled skin trembled beneath his touch, but he could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, warming against his palm as he cupped her face.
For one excruciating heartbeat, their lips tore away, and she gazed up at him with unguarded hunger. Her hands splayed across his bare chest, hesitant at first, as though unsure of what to do next or where to touch. He covered her trembling fingers with his own, guiding them as they skimmed the hard ridges of his muscles in a featherlight caress.
As she did, Horatio tilted her head, brushing aside her water-lashed hair to expose the delicate curve of her throat. His lips hovered there, his warm breath teasing her skin before he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss against the vulnerable hollow.
“You are irresistible like this,” he rasped, tasting her, his tongue tracing a slow, sensual path along her throat. Her soft gasp spurred him on, and he dragged his mouth upward, alternating between gentle sucks and grazing nips.
“Horatio,” she whispered, her voice trembling as her hands clutched at his shoulders. Her body arched into him, seeking more, offering herself with an abandon that sent a fierce surge of heat through him.
“You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his lips curving into a wicked smile against her skin. Before she could respond, he sucked harder at the tender flesh, leaving her writhing in his grasp.
His hands roamed greedily now, skimming down her back, his touch firm yet reverent. When his fingers curved over the swell of her buttocks, squeezing, she let out a strangled cry, and her hips ground against him instinctively. His other hand roved upward, cupping and kneading her breasts beneath a sheer gown. “God, Juliet,” he breathed, his thumb brushing the peak of her nipple. “Do you feel what you do to me?”
Her small hand flattened against his back, her nails scratching lightly over his muscles there. “And you— Horatio , you make me—oh!” Her words dissolved into a moan as he pinched her nipple.
His name spilled from her lips again, breathless and broken, and the sound ignited something feral within him. “Say it again,” he demanded, his lips brushing the shell of her ear before claiming her mouth in a searing kiss.
“ Horatio…” Her hands fisted in his hair now, tugging, as her body melted into his, a perfect, maddening fit. The rain continued to pour, plastering her gown to her curves, but neither of them felt the chill. Heat radiated between them, building with every touch, every sound, every desperate gasp for breath.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with need.
“You,” she whispered back. “I want you.”
Planting a hand on his either shoulder, Juliet broke away from his demanding kisses, her breath hitching as though caught on the edge of some daring thought. Then, without hesitation, she surged forward, sinking her teeth gently into the hard muscle of his chest. Horatio gasped, the sharp, unexpected sensation sending a jolt of pleasure racing through him. His hands tightened on her waist, holding her firmly as she began to blaze a trail across his torso with her tongue, hot and deliberate, pausing to lavish attention on every taut plane of his pectorals.
“ Juliet… ” Her response was a teasing nip on the other side, and he couldn’t help but chuckle, low and throaty, as his hands slid possessively over her back. She raked her nails up and down his spine, her fingers branding his skin.
They knelt on the cold stone floor, their bodies facing each other, their breaths mingling as though they were devotees locked in some sacred, intimate ritual. He had never seen anything more intoxicating than Juliet in that moment—her pale cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her lashes drawn with a hunger that mirrored his own.
The next time she pulled back, she held his gaze for a long, charged moment. Something passed between them—an unspoken question, a promise—and then, slowly, deliberately, her hands reached behind her back. Horatio’s breath caught as he realized what she was doing. He released her, leaning back on his heels, his pulse thundering as she deftly worked the buttons of her gown—one by one.
The damp gown slipped from her shoulders, baring her smooth skin. She paused, letting the anticipation build, then pushed the fabric lower, revealing the luscious curve of her breasts, the faint sheen of rainwater on her skin. Horatio’s throat tightened as the dress slid further down, catching briefly on her hips, before she shoved it to the floor with an almost impatient thrust.
He sat frozen for a moment, his eyes trailing over her, taking in the delicate stockings that clung to her legs and the thin undergarment that did little to conceal the curves beneath. “You are… a goddess ,” was all he could mutter.
She smirked, a playful tilt of her lips that set him aflame, and kicked the dress aside. His grin turned wicked as he leaned forward, crawling toward her on his hands and knees. Reaching her feet, he caught one in his hand, pressing a reverent kiss to her ankle.
Juliet bit her lower lip, her breath ragged, as Horatio’s strong hands worked her foot with a purposeful touch. When she pressed forward with her toes, they brushed against the unmistakable, rigid heat straining beneath his trousers. His reaction was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, a low, guttural sound that rumbled from his chest as his head fell back, his throat exposed and vulnerable for one delicious moment. The heat radiating from him was unmistakable, and the way his body responded to hers made her feel bold, powerful .
She flexed her foot again, deliberately stroking the rigid length straining beneath his trousers. His fingers tightened on her ankle, his breath shuddering as he looked at her, his gaze molten with desire. “Juliet,” he rasped, his voice low and rough, “you are playing with fire.”
“Perhaps I wish to be burned…” she grinned impishly.
Horatio’s lips qurked into a wicked smile. He dragged his hand up from her foot, his fingers firm and commanding as they climbed her calf. He moved higher, over her knee, his palm spreading wide as it caressed the tender inside of her thigh. Her body shuddered as his fingers reached the delicate ribbon at the top of her stocking.
He did not ask permission this time. He rolled the stocking down with slow, deliberate precision, baring her alabaster leg inch by agonizing inch. The stocking fell away, forgotten, as he repeated the same process with the other, leaving her bare from the knees down.
“Move your hands,” he ordered, a command she could not ignore.
His attention shifted upward, his gaze dark with intent. He caught the hem of her petticoat between his fingers, lifting it slowly, teasingly. The fabric rose higher, revealing the pale curve of her knees, then the soft, silken expanse of her thighs. She instinctively pressed her hands to the apex of her legs in a futile attempt to guard her modesty.
“Move your hands,” he ordered, a command she could not ignore. He didn’t wait. His hands closed over hers, prying them gently but firmly away as he pushed the petticoat higher. The fabric slid up, baring her completely, and his breath caught as his eyes roved over her naked figure. “ Perfect.”
He spread her thighs with his hands, and before she could think—before she could even speak, his mouth descended. The first stroke of his tongue against her center was pure fire. She cried out, her hips bucking against him as he took her apart with deliberate, unrelenting attention. His tongue teased, flicked, and plunged, exploring every inch of her with raw hunger.
“What are you—what are you doing…” Juliet cried out, her hips jerking against him as her fingers dove into his hair, holding him to her. He didn’t relent. His tongue delved deeper, tasting her, teasing her, exploring her with a ferocity that made her body arch against him. He groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her core in a way that made her moan his name, breathless and broken.
“More,” she gasped, her thighs trembling as her hands tightened in his hair. “Please, Horatio… don’t stop.”
When his lips closed around her most sensitive spot, sucking powerfully, she shattered, her release tearing through her in waves so powerful she couldn’t hold back the sob of his name.
Upon guiding her quivering body through that blissful ascent, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You taste like sin,” he murmured, his voice thick as he rose, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. “And I’m far from finished.”
Horatio’s control snapped as he gripped Juliet by the hips and hauled her down onto him, positioning her astride his lap. His back pressed against the end of the pew, and she settled above him, her petticoat bunched around her thighs, her breath hot and shallow. Her hands darted between them, fumbling with the button of his breeches. The urgency of her movements matched the roaring storm outside, fingers trembling as they worked.
His hands roamed over her with unrestrained hunger, sliding over her waist, her back, her thighs, as though he couldn’t touch enough of her at once. His lips sought her neck, her collarbone, tasting her, claiming her with every kiss. When her hands finally freed him, she giggled breathlessly, the sound a sweet contrast to the fire between them. They shifted together, a frenzied dance to shed the final barrier of his breeches—when at last he sprang free.
For a moment, they stilled, their eyes locking in a shared, searing gaze. Her breasts rose and fell, her damp hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. He held her gaze, his grip tightening on her hips as he steadied her.
“Hold still,” he commanded, one hand sliding up her spine to tangle in her hair, holding her steady. “I’ll take care of you.”
“ Horatio …” she breathed. Her eyes went wide, her lips trembling as she clung to his shoulders. There was a hint of hesitation, of uncertainty, but he silenced it with a fierce, claiming kiss. His lips crushed against hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, leaving no doubt about his intent.
With his free hand, he positioned himself, the thick head of his manhood pressing against her slick heat. She gasped, her body tensing, but he soothed her with a murmur against her lips.
“Relax for me,” he whispered, his voice gentler now, though no less commanding. “You can take me. You will.”
Before she could respond, he thrust up into her in one smooth, gentle motion, burying himself slowly to the hilt. Her cry was sharp, her nails digging into his shoulders as her body stretched to accommodate him, the fullness overwhelming. He held her there, his grip on her hips firm, his breathing harsh against her ear.
“Good girl,” he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction as he felt her tighten around him. “You feel perfect.”
She whimpered, her body surrendering completely to his rhythm, her nails raking down his chest as her hips began to meet his thrusts instinctively. He rewarded her with a groan, leaning forward to take one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the peak before his teeth scraped lightly, making her cry out.
The storm outside roared, but it was nothing compared to the tempest brewing between them. Her movements grew wilder, her hips grinding against him, her nails digging into his shoulders as her head fell back. Water droplets scattered from her hair as she cried out, her voice rising in pitch with each gasping moan.
He felt her body tighten around him, her thighs clenching as her nails scored his back. Then she shuddered violently, a scream ripping from her throat as she convulsed in his arms. The sheer force of her release dragged him over the edge seconds later, his body stiffening as his own release tore through him, raw and powerful. He held her tightly, his fingers digging into her hips as he spilled himself into her.
They clung to each other, their bodies trembling, the echoes of their cries mingling with the distant thunder. Gradually, their breathing steadied, their foreheads touching as they shared a look full of raw intimacy. For a long time afterward, they remained still, bodies liquid and limp. Outside the storm abated, the thunder becoming more distant and the rain slowing its assault.
Finally, Juliet raised a hand flat against his cheek, as she breathed in the scent of him. “I did not mean to go so far…” she whispered.
“Nor I,” Horatio murmured back.
“But, I do not wish to die a maid either…” she breathed.
Horatio held her tightly, not wanting to be reminded of the prospect of her early demise.
“I will not pretend that it will not happen. That will serve neither of us,” she murmured brokenly.
“Then let us not pretend. Is there really no cure?” he asked.
“None…”
“I cannot believe that. I have resources that your father will not have had. There must be something that can be done,” he pressed with determination.
Juliet looked into his eyes, searching for the truth. Could she trust him? Did he mean to stay by her side beyond the marriage of convenience that he had originally planned? She would not have given herself to him so easily if she had thought their marriage would be a true union. She had believed that they would be parted either by death or the expediency of the moment. The idea that this might be the beginning of a love story left her breathless with anticipation. It was beyond her wildest dreams.
“There is a doctor. Alistair Carmichael . He treated my mother for some time and is the only one who understands the condition and might be able to help.”
“A Scotsman?” Horatio asked, judging by the name.
“I don’t know. He lives in Carlisle,” Juliet said.
“Carlisle?”
Juliet nodded. “If we could go there, then perhaps…”
“Consider it done,” Horatio finished, firmly.
It was beyond all her expectations. Seeing Doctor Carmichael face to face might persuade him to help her. She would at least know, finally, if there was even help to be had. Or if she was doomed to the same sentence as her mother.
Of course, Horatio might have another reason for going to Carlisle. She opened her mouth to ask him about Jane Bonel but her courage failed her. Instead, she put her arms about his shoulders and told herself that he would not have made love to her if he loved another woman.
“We will go there and we will have answers from this doctor,” Horatio said, holding her semi-naked body tightly against his own.