Chapter Thirty-One
Lydia could see the change in him. She felt it in every cell of her body as his entire physical attitude shifted into one of quiet readiness and predatory patience. Even the air around them changed. Humming with anticipation. Or maybe it was her blood singing like that.
Meeting the intense focus of his shining gaze, she stared back and silently studied him.
He was a rake. A rogue. Unconscionable. A hedonist.
She should find him vapid and shallow.
But he was the first person beyond Eleanor and Bridget who’d ever actually listened to her. Since they’d met, he’d never failed to consider her words, her thoughts, her preferences. He’d actually seen her when he’d looked at her.
He’d lied by omission, concealing his initial motivations, but her intuition told her he’d been honest in every other way.
Damn.
“I’m the biggest fool in London,” she breathed with a sigh.
His mouth tilted into a softly wicked smile. “Why? Because you want to be angry, but all you can think about is climbing into my lap?”
She snorted, but couldn’t break his stare to roll her eyes.
He took a breath and intoned smoothly, “‘Had I not sinned what would there be for you to pardon. My fate has given you the opportunity for mercy.’”
She recognized the line from Ovid and struggled to hold back the curl of her lips. “Mercy?” she lifted her brows. “Is that what you call it?”
His gaze turned predatory. “I’ll call it whatever the fuck you want as long as you get your stunning arse over here and give it to me.”
The crude demand should have turned her cold. It didn’t. Not even in the slightest.
Her body ignited. And suddenly she felt as though she didn’t have to make a conscious decision about what she wanted.
She just wanted it. And his unabashed attitude somehow managed to sweep away any remaining reticence.
Thoughts of consequences, ruination, betrayal…
all faded. Left behind was simply desire. Selfish. Intimate. Insistent.
Lifting her glass to drain the last of the brandy, she set the snifter delicately on the railing.
Then she walked toward him. Untying her cloak, she lifted it away and dropped it behind her.
When she reached the foot of the chaise he straddled so temptingly, she lifted her skirts and lowered to her knees on the cushioned surface.
But she didn’t settle back on her heels.
She continued toward him until she was between his thighs.
Then she slipped her hand beneath his chin to tip his head back, forcing his heated gaze from her breasts to her face.
His eyes were dark and hungry. His smile was devilish—tempting the flick of her tongue.
When he brought his hands to her hips and squeezed, a thrill ran through her, but she kept her expression stern, her gaze intent. Ignoring the kneading press of his strong fingers into the softness of her buttocks, she took a slow breath.
“I should hate you,” she whispered.
His smile slipped into something unexpectedly genuine, and his voice became low and earnest. “But you don’t.”
There was a sharp twist in her stomach. “I want to.”
His stare penetrated. “But you can’t.”
When she said nothing in reply, he shifted his hands down her outer thighs, slipping them beneath her skirts before smoothing them up again. Wrapping his fingers around the back of her legs, he pulled her toward him, maneuvering her until she was seated in his lap, her legs spread around his hips.
Her breath was heavy and thick as she sighed, rolling her pelvis in an instinctive demand for contact.
Edmund stared into her eyes as he slowly touched his mouth to hers, murmuring gently, “Shall I make love to you beneath the stars?”
A tingling thrill spun through her belly before circling her heart. She knew it was just a common phrase for what they were about to do. But the words struck her acutely. A flash of pleasure followed by a stab of pain.
She slowly shook her head, brushing her lips back and forth over his, noting the way his brows lowered and his hands tightened on her body.
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” she muttered before flicking her tongue at his bottom lip.
“I know.” His voice was rough and weighted.
“And I might never forgive your part in this.”
His reply was a growl. The sound rolled through her, awakening delicate nerves, filling her with heat and molten yearning.
“But you promised me liberation,” she noted.
“And experience,” he added against her throat as his mouth moved down to the swells of her upper breasts and he grasped her bare buttocks in his hands.
“And sensual knowledge.” Her voice was already husky with desire. “I’m certain I’ve barely begun to learn all there is to know.”
He chuckled warmly against her skin. “No one can hope to know everything,” he murmured, pulling her against him.
His erection pulsed against her.
She gasped and shivered, a subtle tremor translating through her body.
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” she murmured, lifting her hips and reaching down between them to release the fastening of his breeches.
“Lydia Balcomb,” he groaned. “You might prove to be the death of me.”
There was no reply as his waistband loosened, and his erection was freed into her hand. As she curled her fingers around him, Edmund tensed and bit off a deep guttural moan. His eyes closed and his head fell back a bit.
Lydia gave a subtle squeeze and he hissed an in-drawn breath.
For a moment, she worried she’d hurt him. But then his eyes opened to gleaming slits, shining with pleasure, need, and silent demand.
She slid her hand down his steel-silk length, then brought it back to the rounded tip.
He shuddered.
She did it again and he moaned—thick and low—the sound stirring her belly and melting her core.
On the third slow stroke, he reached up to wrap his hand around her nape and pull her roughly to him for a kiss.
His tongue plunged past her teeth with a forceful lick that sent a shiver down her spine.
The edge of his teeth scored her bottom lip and his gaze seared her mind.
“Do you take pleasure in tormenting me?” he growled.
Her reply was a breathless sigh. “I’m just trying to learn you.”
She squeezed him, just below his ridged head, and brushed her thumb across the moistened tip.
The sound he made was utterly animalistic as he plunged his hand into her hair, curling into a fist that pulled luxuriously at her scalp.
At the same time, he scooped his other hand beneath her bottom to lift her.
Her breath caught as she suddenly found herself poised to receive him.
The smooth tip of him pulsed hot and wide at her opening.
She could feel the beat of his heart where her finger rested along a thick vein of his member.
His heavy-lidded eyes penetrated brightly into her soul as his mouth curved with wicked intent. Then he slowly laid back against the raised rest of the chaise. He released her hair and dropped his hand to her bare thigh.
“Then learn me,” he uttered roughly.
Lydia remained still. Her body tense with anticipation, expecting any moment for him to thrust up into her.
She still held him firmly in her hand. When he’d laid back, her other hand had come to rest on his solid chest. As he stared up at her, she realized he was offering himself to her.
Her brow arched and the corner of her mouth lifted.
Seeing her shift in expression, his own smile widened as he gently caressed her bottom, hips, and thighs with warm sweeping strokes of his hands. And all the while, she held him poised at her entrance. Hot, hard, and gently throbbing with the need to be inside her.
“What do you know now, Lydia-luv?” His voice was harsh. Raw. Deep.
She took a slow, full breath, awakening nerves that sent tingles out to her toes and fingertips.
She knew she was a fool for him. For this. These moments when she felt desperate and certain and undeniably unfettered. She was mad to want him even after he’d proven her fears valid, her distrust true.
But when she peered into his eyes, seeking knowledge…she saw herself.
Her own need. Her own fire and want. Her own stubborn desire.
What did she know?
This wasn’t made to last.
But it was hers for the moment and she wasn’t going to waste it.
Searching about in her draped skirts for the hidden pocket, it took her a moment, but she finally withdrew the small velvet bag containing the French Letter she’d recently acquired.
As she withdrew the contraceptive sheath, the earl grunted in surprise.
“Where in hell did you get that?”
She arched a brow. “I thought we established that I am rather resourceful. It would be foolish of me to completely rely on someone else for my protection.”
His expression was astounded, but he didn’t speak again as she carefully fit the sheath over his erection.
When it was secured, she held him firm as she lowered herself.
Claiming him bit by excruciatingly lovely bit.
Inch by soul-shivering inch. She heard his slow exhale and experienced a delicious stretching and filling, until he pulsed deep against her womb and her full weight rested on him.
As life and light danced through her, she dropped her head back and opened her eyes to the wide starry sky above.
Though the trees of his garden blocked them from view of any neighbors and the lights of London glowed along the horizon, the stars above were sharp and bright.
Still gazing upward, she rolled her hips, creating a deep and stunning friction that ignited another rush of shivering pleasure through her body.
“Fuck,” he gasped roughly as his hands came up to her waist. Not to guide her, she knew, but to steady her as her body began to move, drawing inspiration from the moon.
As she experimented with the different sensations she could create by moving in different ways, she grew more and more confident.
The increasing demands of her desire guided her and urged her to greater boldness.
She rolled her spine and scooped her pelvis.
Bracing her hands on his chest, she lifted—slowly at first, before gliding back down.
Eventually, increasing her rhythm to a near frantic pace that got them both breathless and panting, before she slowed again.
It was fascinating to watch his reactions.
The way he’d grind his teeth with this movement or groan thickly with that one.
She learned what made his eyes close in ecstasy and what caused his bright stare to pierce to her soul.
Though he was surrendering to her need, there was no passivity in his gaze or manner.
He met her every whim, moving his hands over her body in ways that excited and instigated. Kneading, soothing, pinching.
She wished she could shed her clothing and his. To be naked atop him with the stars and moon above. But there was something primal in the fact that they were taking their pleasure in this way that she appreciated.
Whipping her hips in a demanding rhythm, she gazed into his sharp starry gaze and felt empowered in a way she’d never experienced before. She had full control to create and claim the pleasure she wanted. For herself and for him. She was in command of their lovemaking and she adored it.
Pleasure pulsed deep inside. The start of a tidal wave.
Clenching her inner muscles, Lydia increased her pace, bouncing on his cock as she gasped for breath in short bursts.
“Edmund.”
She didn’t intend to say his name, but it slid free in a soft whisper.
“I’ve got you, luv,” he graveled, matching her rhythm with short thrusts of his hips beneath her.
Even when his breath caught on a guttural moan, his back arched, and he caught his bottom lip in his teeth, he didn’t release her from his stare.
She felt him inside her, throbbing to an impossible size before the shudders of his release pulsed against her nerves.
The intimate sensation of his climax sparked her own as the wave inside her rose and then crested, crashing through her.
He gripped her hips in his large hands, supporting her as her muscles tensed and her rhythm faltered.
He maintained deep, lush strokes as she rode out her climax to the end, then collapsed atop him.
It was sometime later that she began to feel anything beyond the receding ripples of her pleasure. But his gentle strokes along her back and the slowing beat of his heart against her breasts eventually recalled her to full awareness.
She wasn’t sure if she moved or tensed in any way, but his hands stilled and he drew a long breath.
Lifting her head from his shoulder, she pushed up to her elbows.
She expected his expression to be at least a little smug.
But she detected no gloating in his steady gaze or soft mouth.
The tension in his jaw was curious, and she thought she detected a subtle flicker in his eyes, but she couldn’t be sure what it meant.
When she would have spoken, he quirked a quick smile and shifted his hands up to frame her face as he took her mouth in a deep, heart-stirring kiss.
“Feel better?” he asked.
Better? Than before when she’d felt betrayed and uncertain in her own judgment?
Had he instigated all this to sweep his deceit from her mind?
No. She’d wanted this. She couldn’t pass blame to him when she’d willfully chosen to indulge her desire. But perhaps he’d known that she’d needed to be in control of the interlude. Because she did feel better.
With a sigh, she stacked her hands on his chest and rested her chin on her knuckles.
Eyeing him thoughtfully, she didn’t say anything for several minutes.
Rather than becoming uncomfortable and starting to squirm, the man gave a lazy smile and returned to stroking her back.
She could feel him softening inside her. Yet, it didn’t inspire her to move. And he certainly didn’t appear to be bothered.
After a bit, she took a deep breath and answered honestly. “I don’t know what I feel.”