Chapter 15 #2
He tore his mouth from hers with a rough breath. “You’ll be the death of me before the week is through. Speak now if you’ve had enough.”
“Enough?” The glint in her eyes made him question who was doing the claiming. “I’ll not stop until I’ve found your heart, Dominic.”
“You’ll be looking for a long time.”
“Perhaps that’s the plan.”
He held her tight against him, searching her face for the slightest hesitation. “You’ve no idea what you’re inviting.”
“I believe I do.”
“You want me inside you?”
Her breath hitched. “I’ve always dreamed of living dangerously.”
Dominic swore under his breath and lifted her clean off the floor. “Then you’ll have no cause for complaint.”
She gasped as her back met the mattress, her skirts tangling around her thighs as he came down over her.
God help him.
It took strength not to undo his trousers and part her legs. He strained against the wool, the call to take her pounding through his veins.
She kissed him, their mouths meeting in a heated clash of lips and tongues, her hands moving over his shoulders, into his hair, down the warm line of his neck.
Dominic groaned against her mouth. The slow rock of her hips ground the last of his restraint to dust. He had told himself he could remain distant even in this.
That discipline was its own armour. She had made it impossible.
Waiting was no longer an option. Every inch of him burned. He had to touch her.
He bunched the fabric in his fists and hiked her skirts, his palm settling on the silk of her stockings, a delicate barrier beneath his rough hands, but he didn’t pause at the ribbons. His fingers moved higher, finding the slick heat he craved.
Saints’ teeth.
Daphne gasped, her body arching into his touch, just as she had in the garden, when she came apart beneath the stars.
“Have you touched yourself and thought of me?”
He kissed her before she could answer, his tongue stroking deep, matching the slow circles his fingers traced beneath her skirts.
“You’re never far from my thoughts, Dominic.”
“You’ll need a fan when you think of me tonight.”
He stepped back from the bed and looked at her. Her dark hair lay loose across the pillow, her lips flushed from his kisses, her skirts tangled around her thighs.
He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted her.
He swore softly and shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall. His waistcoat and cravat followed. Then he dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
She watched him, mouth parted, swallowing hard as her gaze drifted over the dark hair on his chest and the hard lines of muscle beneath it. Then it rested on the chain around his neck.
“The ring was my mother’s,” he said, answering her silent question as he set it on the nightstand. He couldn’t dwell on it, not when every breath he took tasted of her. “Where were we?”
“You wanted to do something wicked. I know that look.”
“You had scones and jam. I crave something sweeter.” He caught her ankle and slid off her boot.
“What’s sweeter than strawberry jam?”
“You, angel.” He tugged off her other boot and dropped it to the floor, never taking his eyes from her. “Bend your knees if you’re curious.”
She did, her breath catching as he shifted lower on the bed.
His heart hammered as he settled between her legs. “Still curious?”
“Desperately so. But you know that.”
He lowered his head.
He’d dreamt of this since that night at Mrs Flavell’s.
His mouth brushed the silky skin just above her stocking, the scent of her stirring something dark in his blood.
Daphne.
He kissed his way to the centre of her heat, his breath fanning over the tight little nub begging for his attention.
The moment stretched. Then his lips touched her there, drawn out as though he meant to savour her slowly.
That resolve lasted a heartbeat.
“Dominic.”
His grip tightened on her thighs, the need to possess her surging through him. He sucked and circled her with his tongue, her hips lifting to meet the rhythm.
He felt the tremor building in her, heard it in every broken gasp. He did not relent.
She called out, reaching for him. “Dominic.”
The sound of her crying his name should have been warning enough. He had spent years building walls no woman had ever crossed—yet here he was, on his knees like a man who had forgotten every rule he lived by.
He lifted his head and rose over her again. For a moment, he simply looked at her. He had faced men who wanted him dead and never once hesitated. Yet this woman could undo him with nothing more than his name on her lips.
“I want you. If you’ve changed your mind, tell me to leave. I’m losing what little discipline I have left.”
She cupped his jaw, the haze of desire alight in her eyes. “Stay. This is the only thing I want. No one’s ever made me feel the way you do.”
He didn’t argue. Couldn’t.
He drew her closer and gave himself over to the moment he had tried and failed to resist.
“I’m a different man with you.”
“Not different. A warmer version, perhaps.”
He should strip her bare. Take it slow. But he couldn’t allow himself time to think. The layers between them were a mercy. Feeling her bare beneath him would break him.
“I need you, Daphne.”
“I’m here, though you might need to undress me first.”
“We won’t waste time with gowns and ribbons.”
“At least help me out of this dress.” She pushed herself up off the mattress, fingers fumbling with the fastenings at her spine.
Saints have mercy.
The bare curve of her shoulders as the fabric parted stopped him cold.
Without a word, he turned her gently and worked the buttons himself.
The bodice loosened and he eased it from her, helped her step free of the skirt.
Her stays and petticoats remained—enough layers between them to keep his head clear.
“Leave the rest,” he said quietly. “If we’re disturbed, I’d rather not explain myself to Ramsey.”
She laughed softly. “You don’t want to see me?”
There was nothing he wanted more. But he was already in deeper than he’d intended. “Yes. When time isn’t against us.” When he had more control over himself.
He drew her back to the bed, his hands settling at her waist as she sank against the pillows. The chemise was soft against her skin, her blue eyes watching him with a trust that undid him completely.
He lowered himself over her, his mouth finding her throat, her collarbone, the warm curve of her breast through the thin linen. Her breath hitched. Her fingers slid into his hair.
He could tell himself this was nothing more than desire.
He would be lying.
“You’re certain you want this?”
The blaze of longing in her eyes said she did.
“I want you, Dominic.”
He freed himself and pressed closer, guiding himself into her, a groan escaping as she sheathed him in warmth. He had not known it could feel like this. Like coming home.
He forgot every reason he had for resisting her.
He eased forward, rocking slowly into her as she grew accustomed to the size and feel of him.
Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, drawing him closer. Her hands settled against the bare muscles of his back, as though she had never doubted she belonged there.
Why had he denied himself that same simple pleasure?
Because he was already picturing how it would end. With her gone. Him ruined. And still, he didn’t let go.
He bent over her, his breath warm against her neck as he moved again, careful at first, until the rhythm between them built.
“Daphne,” he murmured, his voice roughened by restraint. “I need to drive deeper. Look at me when I do.”
She did, her eyes wide but steady, trusting him in a way that made something tighten painfully in his chest.
God help him.
“If it hurts, if you want me to stop, say the word.”
She shook her head, one hand sliding into his hair as if to anchor herself. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He lowered his forehead to hers, breathing her in. For years, vengeance had been the only thing that burned through his blood. Now there was this woman beneath him, and he craved her more than he had ever craved revenge.
He kissed her deeply. One slow glide answering the other.
He had meant to take his time.
He had meant to maintain control.
But the way she clung to him, the way her breath warmed his throat, the way her body answered his every movement—
He rolled his hips, one long thrust filling her.
“Daphne.”
She gasped, her nails pressing lightly into his back as the deeper stroke drew a soft cry from her lips.
“I’m all right,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
He searched her face for doubt and found none.
Then she said the one thing no one ever had.
“Please, Dominic. I need you.”
Whatever control he had left vanished. The bed creaked beneath them as he gathered her close, the rhythm between them building until neither could hold it back. She clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, his name slipping from her in a ragged whisper.
His release broke with brutal force. With a rough groan, he withdrew just in time, bracing himself on the mattress beside her as he spilled over her thigh.
As the tension subsided, he looked at her mussed hair and swollen lips and gave silent thanks for the chemise. Bare skin would have finished him.
“Are you all right?” He eased off the bed, took a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and returned to tend to her.
“I’m perfectly fine.” She shifted on the pillow, still flushed from his attentions. Her gaze lingered on him. “A little overwhelmed, but fine.”
“Overwhelmed in a good way?” He tucked himself back into his trousers before he succumbed to his baser instincts.
She smiled. “In a way that might tempt me to repeat it.”
A laugh escaped him. “You’re a dangerous woman. You have a talent for dismantling a man’s defences.”
She looked quite proud of herself. “Have I managed to sneak past your barricade, Mr Hawke?”
“You’ve been raising the portcullis an inch at a time.”
“Who knew I had the strength?”
“Who indeed.”
She had more steel in her than she knew. He only hoped it would prove enough when the guests came for the Masque. Beattie likely had a dozen questions waiting for him at the house, but Dominic had no wish to leave her just yet.
He climbed onto the mattress beside her and lay back against the pillows. Daphne curled against his side, her head settling on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her without thinking.
She traced idle circles on his chest, fingers drifting to where his mother’s ring usually rested. “I went to see the grave and Mrs Buckley so you’d know how it feels to be ignored.”
“It worked.”
“So why did you cast me aside?”
“I didn’t cast you aside.” He thought of Moseley’s cold eyes, the way the man had filed her existence away like a debt to be called in. “I was afraid Moseley would find a use for you if he met you. I’d rather risk your disappointment.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m not sorry I left you behind.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
“Will you tell me what Mr Moseley said?” Her tone had cooled, though her hand remained on his chest. “I presume you paid him.”
“Yes. The fifteen thousand your father owed him.”
She shot up on her elbow. “Fifteen thousand? Good heavens. How will I ever repay you?”
His gaze moved over her slowly. “I can think of several ways. Beginning with what Mrs Buckley told you.”
“Not until you tell me what Mr Moseley said about my father. Do you think he killed him?”
“No. He would have used it as leverage to frighten me instead of holding me to ransom.” The bargain still rankled. Dominic disliked being forced to deal on another man’s terms. “Forget I said that.”
She sighed, snatching her hand from his chest. “You need to decide whether you want a partner or a prisoner. Partners don’t keep secrets.”
He reached for her hand, turning it in his palm as though he had no intention of letting her retreat.
“Both our mothers applied to Moseley for a loan to pay a lord who may have been blackmailing them.”
Daphne frowned. “Blackmail?”
“Moseley said evil men return to the scene of their crimes. That the villain has likely visited both our houses.” That might make the bastard easier to identify.
“He may be at the Masque tomorrow.” The idea of her alone in the cottage chilled him.
He leaned closer and kissed her temple. “If Moseley’s right, you should stay with Mrs Buckley. ”
“If I’m your prisoner, I have no choice. If I’m your partner, I shall remain at your side.” She tucked herself closer. “We were separated this morning, and look at the trouble it caused.”
“I’m not complaining.”
Her sultry smile said she wasn’t either. “I’d prefer not to walk four miles to prove a point, though it wasn’t a wasted journey.”
His heart missed a beat. “Mrs Buckley knew something? She’s always played ignorant with me.” Women were better than men at keeping their word to his mother.
“If it’s any consolation, your mother told her nothing. But Mrs Buckley did recall something she once said.” Daphne draped her arm over his chest as though she feared he might bolt from the bed.
He braced himself. “What did she say?”
“That Lord Templeton could bleed a desert dry and call it charity.”