“Is the story boring?”
She jerked her gaze up to meet his. “Pardon?”
“You’re fidgeting. I thought perhaps the tale had failed to capture your attention. I have many other books if that one is not to your liking.”
She almost told him that she wasn’t blind, and could see them lining the shelves. But castigating him would certainly not hasten his journey to her bed.
“I’m simply a bit tired. We had such a busy day that I was thinking of retiring early.”
His smile was all-knowing, irritating . . . and the most sensual one she’d ever seen.
“Well, if that be the case . . .” With a fluid movement he set his book aside and stood.
How could he appear so casual when she was practically shivering with anticipation? Placing her book on the table, she rose. When he offered her his arm, she set her hand on it. So annoyingly formal, as though they were once again strangers on the verge of engaging in an unemotional act.
Could he walk any slower? He was very close to standing still.
“My legs are not so short that you must take such small steps,” she groused irritably.
Laughing, he scooped her into his arms, apparently relishing her unexpected squeal as she twined her arms around his neck.
“I wondered how long it would take,” he said, clearly amused.
“For what?”
“For you to desire me.”
“You insufferable lout. It is as I said. I’m rather weary, anxious for sleep.”
His long strides began eating up the distance to the bedchamber.
“Put me down, Ainsley. Your servants will know what we’re about with such an open display—”
“She’s exhausted,” he said as they passed the butler. “Can hardly walk.”
She buried her face in his shoulder. “You are so cruel.”
“If I were cruel”—he began making his way up the stairs—“I’d have waited another hour before putting you out of your misery.”
She snapped her head back as they reached the landing. “You knew where my thoughts wandered?”
“Mine were not far behind.”
They were in her bedchamber, their clothes scattered on the floor before she realized they’d not doused the lamps.
“The light—”
“Let it stay with us tonight.” He wrapped a warm hand around her nape, holding her in place while he trailed his moist mouth over her throat. She closed her eyes on a sigh of pleasure. “Do not deny me any longer the pleasure of gazing on you.”
She did not want to consider that the entire day his nearness, complemented by distance, had been a ploy, a way to lure her into yearning for him with such need that she would let all propriety go. No other man had ever seen her standing bared before him, the blush rising from her toes to her hair.
Ainsley leaned back, giving his gaze the freedom to roam over her. She could see the hunger and desire, something the darkness had always denied her. Now that she saw what it had kept from her, how could she welcome it back?
He was athletic and powerful. Long legs and sculpted muscles. She’d felt it all, of course, but to see it was to appreciate it all the more.
“You are so beautiful.” He skimmed his thumb over her nipple. “Dark. Dusky. I’d wondered.”
His were dusky as well. Turgid. She longed to feel them against her tongue. It wasn’t fair that he could have her clamoring for him while he was so unaffected. Well, not completely unaffected. Not unaffected at all. Every aspect of him stood magnificently proud before her.
He’d been tormenting her all day. She would return the favor. Leaning in, she ran her tongue over his nipple. His chest vibrated with his strangled groan. He threaded his fingers through her hair, held her head, pressed her nearer.
“Vixen.”
It sounded as though he’d pushed the word up from the depths of his soul. It made her feel powerful, in control. Brazen.
Taking both his hands, she backed toward the bed, dragging him—quite willingly, judging by the predatory gleam in his eyes—with her. When they reached their destination, he lifted her onto the bed and followed her down.
He didn’t resist when she rolled him over, sat up, and took in her fill of him.
“See anything you like?” he asked, his fingers stroking her spine.
With a self-conscious laugh, she peered into his eyes. “You are so comfortable with this.”
“I appreciate the marvels and complexities of the human form. Someday we shall have to make love in the afternoon, in the sunshine.”
“During the day, you mean?”
He grew still and blinked at her. “Have you never—” He shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t wish to know.”
But she suspected he already did know. She was being awakened to so many new notions and experiences. To lie with a man with no clothes on at all. With Walfort, her nightdress had gone up but not completely off. Flames never wavered and teased her with glimpses of him. The dark protected their modesty. They would certainly never come together during an inappropriate time such as the afternoon.
“I suppose you don’t even limit yourself to bedchambers,” she said.
He grinned wickedly. “Another item to add to my list.”
“What list?”
“Of new experiences to which to introduce you. A thick blanket in a meadow in the afternoon.”
“Outside? I was thinking . . . I don’t know. The library.”
“The library it is. The next time it rains.”
She was scandalized by the notion. And titillated.
“Tonight, however, have your way with me.” He shoved his hands behind his head, an expectant look on his face.
“Pardon?”
“You were the one anxious to get me here. Do with me what you will.”
She shook her head. “I’ve not your experience. I will disappoint.”
“Jayne, if you do nothing more than straddle me and ride me, you will not disappoint.”
Straddle him. She imagined the positioning of their bodies, how it might work, how exposed she would be. He took her hand and wrapped it around his velvet heat.
“At least make me beg,” he said with a lowered voice that indicated it would not take much to bring him to that point.
“All right. Yes. You think I can’t do it.”
“I know you can.”
He shouldn’t be playful. Walfort came in, saw to business, and left. Inwardly, she shook her head. She needed to stop comparing them. In all matters, Walfort fell short, but then he’d not achieved a reputation as a great lover. Ainsley had.
She did not want to consider how many women had educated him. She would not feel jealous when she was now the benefactor of their lessons. If Walfort had not married so young and limited his conquests to her, he might have been as skilled. Did that mean the fault rested with her?
“You begin by gliding your hand up and down,” he said.
“I know how to begin,” she snapped.
“Oh, heat. I like that.” His eyes smoldered, stoking the fires of her own desires.
He shouldn’t be making her comfortable with all this. It was supposed to be quick, to the purpose. She was not supposed to anticipate, to want.
She grew warm with the thoughts of what she could do to Ainsley. Yes, she would very much like to hear him beg. She thought of a cat she’d had as a child and how sensuously it had prowled.
She gave him what she truly hoped was a sultry look—and hoped he wouldn’t laugh. If he laughed she would die. “Prepare to beg.”
He issued a deep, guttural curse as she stretched out over him. His eyes darkened and he fisted his hands into the sheets, relinquishing all power to her.
And she reveled in it. Touching him, teasing him, taunting him. She used her mouth, her hands, her breasts, every part of herself to torment him. His hands traveled over her with an urgency that surprised her, as though he needed her desperately. His groans echoed through the room. His harsh breathing ignited her desire.
She’d never been so bold, had never known she could be.
But even though she was the one in control, he followed. Touching her, kissing her shoulder, molding her breasts, gently guiding her with murmurs of approval and deep-throated rumbles. She was as fevered as he when he finally growled, “For God’s sake, Jayne, end this torment.”
She straddled his hips, looked down on him, scored her fingernails up his chest.
He grabbed her hips and bucked. “Woman!”
Feeling victorious, she lifted up, lowered herself, guided him home. With his hands roaming over her, urging her on, she rocked against him. She fanned out her hair until it was a curtain around them. She watched him as his pleasure escalated. Being above him was such a glorious position, gave her such a clear view of him. She was grateful for the light, illuminating the wonder of this moment.
Then the tables turned and all the torment she had been inflicting returned to her full force. She found herself hurtling through star-filled heavens, crying out, felt the power of his release crashing through her as hers erupted. Together. They peaked together. She didn’t even know it was possible, was undone by the bond it forged between them.
Something else special that was to be shared between them. A secret bouquet of memories that must remain here when she took her leave.
As limp as a wilted flower, she eased onto his chest and listened to the hard thudding of his heart.
Using only the tips of his fingers, he began to slowly caress her back, and she wondered where he found the energy to move at all. She thought she might never again, that she would simply remain still and silent forever.
“Had I known that with lamplight you’d have transformed into a tigress, I would have insisted the lamps remain burning from the beginning,” he murmured.
“Did I disappoint you before?”
“God, no. I like that each time with you is so very different.”
“Tonight I felt . . . unencumbered.”
“That was quite obvious.”
Testing her muscles, she stretched a little. “I don’t think I have the strength to move off you.”
“Then stay. Your weight is no burden.”
“I’m close to falling asleep.” His fingers lightly stroking her were luring her into the land of dreams.
“Sleep,” he said in a voice as drowsy as hers.
She didn’t remember drifting off, but when she awoke, she was alone in the bed, the covers tucked around her, the lamps no longer burning. The fire on the grate provided enough light for her to see his standing silhouette. “Ainsley?”
“My apologies,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What are you doing?”
“I was in the process of returning to my bedchamber. I thought it was what you would want.”
It was . . . when she first arrived. Now . . .
“Will you stay with me?”
He didn’t answer with words. He simply crawled beneath the covers and wrapped his arms around her.
When she awoke in the morning, he was still with her, holding her.
A
s Jayne stood in the gazebo, a cloak and a blanket draped around her, she thought the night sky had never looked more beautiful. Or perhaps it was simply that her life was filled with a richness she’d not expected.
Everything between Ainsley and her had changed. It was as though he could never get enough of being with her. As the minutes of their time together slipped away, so they spent more of those minutes together. They’d completely dispensed with his beginning the night in his bedchamber and then coming into hers. He slept with her throughout the night, and only went to his bedchamber to dress for the day. They would feed each other, laugh, tease, and talk.
They made love in the morning, the afternoon, the evening. Some days they never left the bed. He would have the meals brought to the bedchamber.
They bathed together, read together, ate together, napped together. They trudged over the land. Rode the horses. Took carriage rides. They visited the village. Fished. Climbed in the tree and welcomed dawn. And now he was sharing a bright, though partial, moon and the stars with her.
She watched his shadowy figure as he peered through a telescope he’d placed on a pillar that he’d had built onto the gazebo for just that purpose. Apparently he loved gazing out on the universe. She wished it was summer so she could enjoy it a bit more, but the night was chilled and every so often her teeth clattered, but she wouldn’t complain. She wanted to share this moment with him, something special. She was capturing more glimpses into the man, and each one touched her heart.
“There we are,” he said. “Now, come here.”
She moved beside him and adjusted her position so she was in front of the telescope.
“Are you shaking?” he asked.
“I’m just a little chilled.”
“Jayne, you should have said something.”
Removing his coat, he draped it over her shoulders. Even with the cloak and blanket, the coat swallowed her and drowned her in delicious warmth. “Now you’ll get cold,” she told him.
He kissed the nape of her neck. “I believe we’ve had this conversation before. I’ll be fine. Now, peer through the eyepiece and you’ll see the moon as few people have.”
The bright orange moon filled her vision. She could see strange indentions, circles with ridges. “What are they? It looks as though someone punched it.”
“No one knows exactly what they are or how they were created. When Galileo discovered them, he called them craters. Men of learning have been arguing ever since about what they are precisely and what caused them.”
“Do you think we’ll ever know?”
“I shan’t be at all surprised. Look at all the technological advances we’ve made in so short a time. Railways. The telegraph. All the marvels that were displayed at the Great Exhibition. So many possibilities.”
“Do you think there are creatures up there looking down on us?”
“If so, at this moment they would be envious of me and think I’m a very lucky man to be gazing at the stars with such a beautiful woman.”
He flattered her with such ease. Sometimes she didn’t know how to respond to it so she chose to deflect it. “We’re looking at the moon, not the stars.”
“We’re getting to the stars.” He leaned in and she could feel his breath warming her cheek, smell the bergamot scent he favored. “Very slowly and carefully nudge the telescope around until you are no longer seeing the moon but are gazing at the stars.”
She did as he instructed. “Oh, they’re so much larger and brighter. How many do you think there are?”
“Millions. Too many to count.”
“They’re so beautiful. Peaceful.”
“Hmm. Now, I want you to keep watching them until you see stars of your own.”
“What are you—”
“Shh. Trust me.”
“Have I not demonstrated that I do?”
“Then trust me a little more.” He nibbled on her ear.
Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back.
“The stars,” he reminded her.
Opening her eyes, she gazed through the telescope, aware of his inching her skirts upward, his hand skimming over her leg until it reached the juncture between her thighs and sought solace there.
“Ainsley—”
“You’re so warm there and my hand is cold.”
“It’s not. How can it be so warm?”
“The wonder of gloves, my sweet. I only just took them off.”
The conversation made little sense, but she no longer cared. His mouth was creating delicious tingles along her neck and his fingers were working magic below. Sensations rippled through her, growing stronger with his increased attentions.
With his thumb, he rubbed her sensitive swollen flesh. Her knees weakened. She clutched the railing of the gazebo. She wanted to grab him, but he remained behind her, taunting her. Then he slid one long finger inside her, and she released a tiny cry.
His other hand came around her, slipped inside her cloak and cupped the mound of her breast. Through the cloth, his fingers pinched and pulled, soothed and caressed.
“Ainsley, let’s return to the cottage.”
“Not yet. Not until you’ve seen stars.”
“I saw stars . . . through the telescope.”
“I want you to see stars I created.”
Two fingers went inside her, and the pressure built. She pressed herself against the hard ridge of his palm. She was hot now, so hot. Summer had arrived. She no longer needed his coat, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was the rioting pleasure—
And then the stars. Millions of them. Bursting across the heavens, dancing before the moon.
Her cry. His hot kiss against her neck. His fingers stilling. His holding her tight against him as though knowing she was close to collapsing.
“You didn’t.” She breathed in quick gasps. She had learned so much from him in so short a time. Different positions. Different angles. “Shall I bend over, lay down—”
“Jayne.” He pressed her firmly against him, squeezing her tightly, holding her securely as though he were loath to let her go. “Not every moment of pleasure has to result in the depositing of my seed. I wanted you to have this with no expectations.”
She was beginning to understand the truth of his reputation as a great lover. It was more than the immense pleasure he brought a woman in his bed. It was the manner in which he treated her when she wasn’t in it.
She leaned her head back into the curve of his shoulder and looked up into the heavens. A small part of her wished that from this moment on time would stand still.
B
ut time marched on.
It was raining her last day at the cottage. The sky was filled with thick, heavy clouds that blocked out the sun. The rain beat against the windows with a steady, relentless staccato. It was the type of storm that demanded one stay in bed.
Even without the storm, she thought they would have stayed there.
She was nestled against Ainsley’s side after a rather rousing session of lovemaking. He was skimming one finger along her cheek, her chin. Back and forth. Back and forth. Slowly, provocatively.
“I rather like the village,” she said quietly. “I’m going to miss it.”
“You like the gingerbread.”
She smiled wickedly. “Yes, I like the gingerbread.”
They’d taken to going to the village nearly every afternoon. They strolled along the street, browsed the shops, and always purchased weeds from Ainsley’s favorite flower girl.
“I shall have the baker send your cook the recipe.”
She trailed her fingers over his chest. “I shall miss climbing.”
“I’m sorry you got another scar.”
Climbing down one morning, she slipped, and the rough bark had torn at her knee. “It’s not bad. And now my knees match.” And it was a souvenir. She would never be able to look at it without remembering how it had come to be.
“I think I shall miss the stars most of all,” she said.
“You have stars at Herndon Hall.”
“But they’re brighter here.”
“Perhaps you’re only looking at them through different eyes.”
She rose up on her elbow. “The way I look at you now. You are so very different than what I thought.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“No.” How could she be when he had given so much of himself unselfishly. She hoped her child would be like him.
They dressed for dinner and seated themselves at the table in the dining room, but neither of them ate much. Then they returned to the bedchamber and made love through the night. Each time they expected it to be the last coming together, and afterward they would say, “Once more.”
Until finally it was the last time. Dawn eased in through the curtains and he pulled her beneath him. As he slid inside her, she could see the farewell in his eyes. This, then, would be their final coming together, the beginning of their parting.
She wanted to run her hands over every inch of him, but he tangled their hands together and raised her arms so they rested on the pillow, leaving her vulnerable to him, but with no fear. She tightened her fingers around his and wound her legs around his waist to hold him near. His movements were slow, deliberate. Long, sure strokes that reached deep inside her, not only to her womb, but to her heart.
She didn’t want this moment to end. She’d come here intending to have brief interludes with him, to keep everything impartial. He’d torn down her defenses, touch by touch, smile by smile, laugh by laugh. He’d given her far more than she had expected to receive.
When she was with him she glowed, she welcomed the coming of day, the arrival of night. She tried to convince herself that none of this was real. They’d been here with no responsibilities, no demands, no worries. It had truly been a holiday.
And now it was coming to a close. Reality would soon intrude.
But for this last moment, it was only the two of them, their gazes locked as their joined bodies flowed in a corresponding rhythm. She watched as he clenched his jaw, and she reveled in his deep guttural growls. She responded in kind with sighs and moans.
His hands clamped around hers. She could see him straining to hold back. The dappled sunlight danced over him. She saw him so clearly now. So clearly.
The pleasure built until it exploded in a crashing crescendo. Her back arched and she raised her hips to receive his final deep thrusts. Groans were torn from his throat as he trembled and shook above her. He released his hold on her hands, and she wound her arms around him, held him near, as the lethargy settled in around them.
She heard him swallow as he pressed a kiss to her throat. Why did it make her so sad? He’d just taken her to a glorious place. She usually smiled afterward. But this time she couldn’t, because this time she knew it was the last.
Easing off her, he rolled over. Turning her head to the side, she watched as he stared at the canopy. She wondered what he was thinking. She should say something.
Let’s stay one more day.
Only she’d want to say the same thing tomorrow. So she said nothing at all.
He sat up, swung his legs off the side of the bed, and waited. She studied his broad back, wanted to run her fingers over it one more time. But it was time to say good-bye. She knew that, knew that she had to let him go. They needed to leave soon. Walfort was waiting for them.
With a heavy sigh, without words, he shoved himself off the bed and left her to begin preparing for the journey. She did what she’d done following the first time they’d come together.
She wept.