Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Thank God.”
The words slipped out of Laurence’s mouth before he could think to stop them.
He had craved that kiss ever since it stopped.
Craved it even more when he realized who it had come from nearly two weeks ago.
Ellen’s answer was a breathy sigh as she leaned toward him.
He slid his hand from her cheek to the nape of her neck, drawing her closer.
Need tunneled through his groin as he finally pressed his lips to hers again, and all his stress and sadness evaporated in that single kiss.
Her lips were exactly as he remembered them—plump and buttery soft.
This time she did not have the bite of whisky in her kiss, but something sweeter, as if she’d helped herself to a lemon cake before falling asleep. He was not sure which he liked more.
Laurence deepened the kiss, letting his tongue skim and tease her bottom lip until she moaned against his mouth and parted her lips wider for him.
That subtle act of submission undid him, and before he could think twice, he was gripping her hips and pulling her into his lap.
Her answering gasp of surprise only spurred him on, and he held her tightly; one hand was on her waist, the other on the nape of her neck as he slid his tongue between her lips and claimed her mouth.
Pleasure slid and dipped, pooled, and tightened as their lips and tongue parted and came together in a slow rhythm of their own creation.
He had not stopped thinking of their kiss. Not through his searching. Not through the auction or meeting the beaten servants Ellen had pleaded with him to save. It was always there, playing in the back of his mind and reminding him how much he wanted her even if he did not—should not— want to.
“I thought of you.”
Her whispered confession between kisses only added to his growing need.
“I thought of your kiss in my darkest moments,” she whispered as he feathered kisses over her bruised jaw and down the slim column of her throat. “It was the only thing that gave me peace.”
A tortured sound rose from Laurence’s throat. He hated that that was all she had to cling to, but he loved that he was responsible for such a memory.
“I will bring you peace,” he whispered as he traced his nose back up the column of her throat and placed a warm kiss on her lips. “I swear it.”
Ellen whimpered as she sank into him for another deep kiss that unraveled every hard piece of mental wire he’d wrapped around himself to keep himself from falling apart.
“Perhaps we could bring one another peace,” she murmured over his lips, then kissed him again, bolder this time. “Perhaps…”
Her words faded as he captured her lips, taking the control he loved.
Perhaps. Perhaps.
Laurence was not sure how long they stayed on the settee.
Minutes and hours became indistinguishable as they allowed themselves to get lost in one another’s kiss.
He did not try to remove her robe, and she did not yank at his shirt or touch lower than the rigid muscles of his chest. It was a silent agreement that, in that moment, their kiss was more than enough.
It was only when a log on the fire exploded with a thunderous pop, and the sound of sizzling embers flew through the air, that they finally pulled away from each other, both panting, dazed, and breathless.
Beneath his trousers, his manhood ached as it stood at rodlike attention.
At some point—he couldn’t fathom when—Ellen had begun moving her hips in time with every stroke of his tongue against hers, and it had teased him into a hard, dripping mess that ached to be relieved.
Even so, he did not look down at himself. Instead, he caressed the nape of Ellen’s neck as he stared up into her dazed, dilated blue eyes. Took in her pink, shining lips that were slick from his kisses and bruised from his need. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.
“I—”
Even that simple word took effort to form; his voice was raw from desire.
“You?” She whispered, and he nearly groaned when he heard that same desire coating her voice.
He bowed his head, letting his forehead rest against her collarbone as he tried to gather what little control he had left.
He drew in a ragged breath as he held onto her, willing himself to gather himself, but nearly lost it all again as her gentle fingertips grazed through his hair and over his scalp, sending little jolts of relaxation-steeped pleasure through him.
“We should stop,” he forced himself to say.
He felt her growing still in his lap. Immediately he hated himself for it.
“Not that I want to,” he quickly assured her as he lifted his head and met her questioning gaze.
His grip on the nape of her neck and her waist tightened, and she gasped, pleasure flooding back into her gaze as their bodies slid back into one another.
“God, do I not want to,” he muttered. “But it is your first night. You have been through so much and I…”
He floundered, caught between saying the words he wanted and not wanting to trigger any of Ellen’s horrible memories by saying them.
“Thank you,” she said.
Her words not only saved him from his dilemma, but surprised him.
“Thank you?” he echoed.
Ellen’s smile was soft as she nodded her head, some of the lust dimming in her eyes.
“For not wanting to rush me,” she explained, stroking her fingers affectionately through his hair. “I wanted to kiss you again, maybe even needed to. But as far as what else husbands and wives are meant to do…”
Laurence nodded, understanding what she was trying to say so politely. He placed one more soft kiss on her lips, then gently moved her off of his lap.
“You really should rest now,” he said, willing his body to stand despite its more primal needs to stay and seduce. “I wish I could tell you there is not much for you to do, but as you are a duchess now, there is much to learn. There are other parts we both must play outside our quest for revenge.”
“In fact, I am looking forward to it,” Ellen said, her readiness clear in her gentle voice. “I enjoyed running my father’s household. I was good at it. It will be a joy to feel useful again.”
Laurence’s brows furrowed as he looked down at her.
“You were never useless, Ellen,” he stated.
She let out a small sound of acknowledgement as she curled her legs underneath her and rested her head in her hand.
“Maybe not. But for a moment, Benedict had me fooled into believing precisely that,” she muttered.
Laurence leaned down and lifted her chin with the crook of his finger until she was looking him in the eyes.
“We will make him pay for all he’s done,” he said firmly.
Her answering smile was so brilliant it stole his breath.
“Yes,” she agreed. “We will.”