Lydia had absolutely no idea what she was doing.
For the last two hours she had been a walking mess. She had managed to bathe, had brushed and plaited her hair, dabbed on some perfume and donned a nightgown. She considered climbing into bed, but that seemed too forward. She settled for turning down the covers and then waiting for him in the living room, the book in her lap a pathetic prop to make her seem entirely calm and casual, when nothing could be further from the truth.
Everything felt strange.
She was both daunted, relieved and curious. Excited and nervous. Her body felt decidedly odd. She couldn’t decide if it was the lack of undergarments or the prospect of what was about to happen. Or the relentless and all-consuming desire which had thoroughly taken her over since their kiss—but she had never been quite so aware of her breasts before and the dull throb between her legs refused to go away no matter how much she tried to ignore it.
Twice, she had considered seeking out Gertie and asking advice, but couldn’t bring herself to do it because this was intensely private. Between her and her husband. She just prayed instinct would prevail exactly as it had when she had delivered her friend’s baby and nature would take its course.
It had always seemed to in the past.
Every time Owen had kissed her, her body had known exactly what to do and exactly what it wanted. But then she had never entirely acted upon it. And neither had he. They had been young. Fearful of the consequences of passion and mindful of the need for abstinence. There had been lots of kissing, a great deal of over-the-clothes touching, but, while she had been on the cusp of succumbing to her passions on several occasions, he had always been much too much of a gentleman to take things too far.
At the time, that had been beyond frustrating and she had lain awake for hours afterwards feeling hideously unfulfilled. Exactly like she had after their kiss last week. Which had far surpassed all their previous kisses a decade before, sent her body into a positive frenzy of desire and made her relive the dratted event over and over again in every quiet moment since.
Gracious, that man could kiss!
He had left her so ripe and ready to be picked she could barely think straight.
But as she had plastered herself against him, a heaving mass of needy nerve-endings and unsuppressed desire, she couldn’t help but notice he had a similar desire for her, too. Hard, reckless and insistent desire. So insistent and so glorious, she had almost demanded he take her there and then. Up against the wall with Gertie, Randolph and their newborn right behind it before she’d panicked and pulled away.
Then, of course, they had both run from it, because that was the polite thing to do when two people were supposed to be in a marriage in name only. Which in turn had led her to deliberate, every waking, lust-filled hour since thanks to Gertie’s earthy suggestion, why the devil they were still so diligently denying each other all the forbidden fruit which their marriage had rendered unforbidden?
She did want children—that hadn’t been a lie—but not quite as desperately as she currently wanted Owen.
Two birds with one stone.
Plus all those alluring and intriguing birds etched into his equally intriguing and alluring muscles…
The light tap on the door made her jump out of her skin. He was early. Fifteen minutes early to be precise.
‘Come in.’
She could see he was uncomfortable. Owen always puffed out his chest and stuck out his chin when he wasn’t completely in control of a situation.
‘Hello…’
Had a simple greeting ever felt so loaded?
‘Hello, Owen.’ She slid the book to the new side table placed beside her only a few minutes before for exactly that purpose. The seductive smile she had practised shrivelling and dying before it reached her mouth. ‘You’re early.’
He winced. ‘I’m sorry… Should I go?’
‘No… No…’
‘This is…’ his eyes took in the room. Her nightgown. The lamps burning low. The invitingly open door which led to her bedchamber—then the bed—before settling back on hers ‘…decidedly awkward.’
Then he smiled the same smile he used to all those years ago and she realised everything was going to be all right.
‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? Do you suppose it will get better?’
‘I certainly hope so. I’ve been staring at the clock for the past hour and discovered time moves at a snail’s pace when you watch it. I was going slowly mad—so I came early.’
‘Then, for the sake of both our sanities, maybe we should get it over with?’
‘No painful chit-chat? No nervously sipped brandy? No last-minute cups of tea?’
‘Do you think they would help?’
He shook his tawny head. ‘No. They’d probably only make it worse.’
‘Then we should definitely get it over with, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose we should.’
Trying to be dispassionate and appear both confident as well as matter-of-fact, she stood and held out her hand. ‘Shall we?’
‘If we must.’ Her sudden forthrightness seemed to amuse him and she felt the heat of a ferocious blush creep up her neck as his fingers laced through hers. ‘Lead the way, Wife.’
Not knowing how to stage it, she had left just one lamp burning low on the nightstand, but now instantly regretted it. Not only would he see what had the makings of an epically red and mortally embarrassed face, he would see her nerves, her body and all her carefully hidden emotions and she wasn’t ready for any of that just yet.
Feeling exposed, she tugged her hand from his and quickly extinguished it, plunging the room into a darkness only alleviated by the faint glow of the fire next door.
Yet the shadows somehow felt more intimate, unsettling her further, and all her dispassionate matter-of-fact confidence evaporated like steam. Now what?
Owen sighed and she heard the bed creak as he sat upon it.
‘If you are expecting me to do the necessary in a brisk and perfunctory manner, Lydia, you should know now I cannot do that.’
Which was a relief—but also not a relief at the same time.
‘To be frank, I have no idea what I am expecting.’ Because it seemed like the right thing to do, she sat herself beside him on the mattress. ‘I was hoping you would take the lead.’
‘And I was hoping you would.’ He leaned a little till their shoulders touched. ‘What a pair we are.’ She laughed, or tried to, and rested her head against his shoulder.
‘What a pair indeed.’
‘It’s perfectly all right to be nervous, Lydia. If it makes you feel better, I bypassed nervous a half an hour ago and barrelled straight into outright anxiousness.’
‘Why are you anxious?’
‘Honestly?’ His hand found hers buried in the folds of her nightgown, his touch achingly gentle exactly like she remembered it. ‘Because I cannot deny I might have given this a great deal of thought over the years and a great deal more since Gretna. As a rule, overthinking things is never good.’
‘You thought about it with me or just in general?’
He laughed softly, his head shaking. ‘With you, stupid. You were the first girl I ever kissed. And now, apparently, you are also going to be the last…so I don’t want to get it wrong.’ A confession which made her heart stutter. Especially as his accent had slipped again and she knew already that meant he was just being Owen.
‘The last?’
‘Well…we did take vows. And I cannot deny I’ve never stopped wanting you, Lydia. Ten years is a long time to wait.’
‘You don’t have to wait any more.’
‘Even so… I still do not want to rush things. That would be wrong. We should take things slowly and see where they progress.’
‘How slowly?’ Because she feared she might burst if they delayed the necessary for too long.
‘As long as it takes for things to not feel quite so awkward and at least a little bit…romantic.’
‘The hard-nosed businessman and all-round man of mystery wants romance?’ Her insides were in danger of dissolving into mush at the prospect.
‘I know. Call me old-fashioned…’ His smile this time was less pained and more boyish. Shy, even. ‘Maybe we should start with just a kiss? Ease ourselves into the proceedings.’ He mimicked the accent of the innkeeper from their embarrassing wedding night. ‘As I recall, we were very good at that.’
‘As I recall, we became quite proficient at it.’
‘We did.’ His thumb was gently stroking the back of her hand and just that simple touch was making her yearn. ‘Do you remember our first kiss? We were in Hyde Park, shrouded by trees.’
‘In our little spot. Near the Serpentine.’
He nodded. ‘I was nervous then, too. So overwhelmed, I hesitated…’
Not once, she remembered with a smile, but at least a hundred times when the perfect opportunities presented themselves all those lazy Thursday afternoons that heady summer—and she had been unsubtly hinting for a good two weeks beforehand. Was on the cusp of kissing him out of sheer desperation, she suddenly recalled, the longing had been so intense and she was already head over heels in love with him by that time.
‘You didn’t hesitate. You panicked as I recall.’
Because, with the benefit of hindsight and behind his cocky bravado which he always strapped on like a mask, any fool could have seen it wasn’t just her first kiss, but had obviously been his first kiss, too.
Innocent, clumsy, magical and utterly perfect.
Beneath her palm his heart had raced so fast, neither of them had a clue what they were doing and he had been the one to pull away looking, she now remembered, utterly terrified to have overstepped the mark. Worried about his job, his home, his references, her reputation, the ramifications of stepping above his station if their forbidden romance was ever discovered.
It had been Lydia who had dragged him back then, not giving a fig about any of his natural concerns, who couldn’t wait for each Thursday to roll around so they could spend all afternoon kissing in the dense thicket of trees. And it was also she who had convinced him to creep into her bedchamber in the last few weeks of their romance to do more of the same when she simply couldn’t wait for Thursdays to come around any longer. It came as a shock to suddenly realise, with unnerving clarity, that if anyone had done the seducing all those years ago, it had actually been her. Owen had always been the cautious one. Probably because he had the most to lose. Just as he continued to be cautious around her still. His face was inches from hers, but he didn’t close the distance.
But what did he have to lose now?
He must have seen the question in her eyes. ‘I fear you are going to have to kiss me first, Lydia.’
Her anxiousness made her clumsy and she practically threw herself against him. He refused to be rushed. His lips brushed over hers like a whisper, the pad of one finger tracing her hairline and then her cheek until she practically melted into it.
He took his sweet time in deepening it, tasting just her mouth as though it was the sweetest exotic fruit until her palm cupped his cheek and she gave in to the urge to run her fingers through his hair.
By the time his tongue softly tangled with hers, her body had remembered exactly how much she had always enjoyed this and just how much she needed it. Needed him. Nobody had ever kissed her like Owen Wolfe and with the blurring and passing of time, he thankfully didn’t disappoint. It was exactly the same—only better.
A confident man’s kiss rather than that of the gauche stable boy.
Lydia’s arms coiled around his neck and she pressed her body against him, sighing when his arms looped around her waist and anchored her in place. Owen was absolutely right. They shouldn’t rush this. It was such a decadent kiss, it deserved to be thoroughly enjoyed.
She allowed herself to be carried away by both the romance and the sensations. The sublime feel of his mouth on hers. The strength of his arms. The erratic beat of his heart. The impressive breadth of his shoulders. The enthralling feel of his big hands on her waist, her hips and then the possessive fervour as they finally settled on her bottom and the kiss became more intense.
‘Do you still feel awkward?’
She felt his answering smile against her mouth. ‘Not so much any more. You?’
He deserved the truth now that she knew this mattered to him. ‘I’ve always adored kissing you, Owen. I’ve missed it.’
‘Me, too.’
His lips and teeth knew all her sensitive places as they slowly made their way to her ear and then her neck, but this time, undoubtedly because she wasn’t hampered by the bonds of what was proper, she wanted to feel them everywhere. Boldly, she gave in to the urge to explore his body, running her palms over his back and along the taut muscles in his arms. And when that wasn’t enough, it was Lydia once again who tugged them to lie down on the mattress; she, too, who pushed his coat from his shoulders, needing to be closer to him.
Needing more than just a kiss. ‘Let’s not go too slowly.’
‘Well, if you want more, Wife… I’m more than happy to oblige.’ Laughing, he rolled on to his back, dragging her to lie above him, and she felt his desire through the layers of their clothing, hard and insistent and welcome against her tummy. The promise of things to come. Only this time no longer forbidden, but necessary.
So very necessary, she deepened the kiss and writhed against him in obvious invitation.
But again, he wouldn’t be hurried. As her eager fingers undid the long line of annoying buttons on his waistcoat, he unwound her plait until her hair encompassed them like a curtain, all the while kissing her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
She moaned when those hands cupped her bottom again, then slowly began to explore her curves over her nightgown while his talented mouth continued its deadly assault on her lips. ‘I’ve dreamed of this… Dreamed of you, Lydia…’ His voice was laced with desire and perhaps emotion as he paused to stare deep into her eyes through the darkness and, to her surprise, she realised she wanted it to be both. His desire and his emotion. Exactly as they had had before—but he kissed her instead of elaborating and she had to make do with what she thought that intensely intimate and searing kiss meant rather than hearing it come from his mouth.
Until it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered beyond her and him and the shared passion which engulfed them. As always, when she was thoroughly overwhelmed with Owen, time stood still. She had no idea how long they kissed for. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. All she knew was that with each stroke of his tongue her desire for him built until she feared she might explode from the wanting.
She needed his hands on her skin. Needed to feel his bare skin against hers. And because he was being too much the gentleman still—and she didn’t know how to ask him—she tugged the hem of his shirt from the waistband of his breeches and allowed her greedy palms to explore his chest as she pushed the fabric upwards. His skin was hot and smooth, the light dusting of hair intriguing as it narrowed over his stomach. With the absence of proper light and because she was too consumed with him to be shy, where her fingers went her lips followed and she revelled in the way he seemed to unravel at her touch.
At her insistence, he pulled his shirt off, allowing her to explore his shoulders properly with her needy palms, teeth and tongue. Then his arms. She could feel the slightly raised outline of his tattoo in the darkness. The way his nipples pebbled and he shivered at her touch. Every gasp. Every sigh. Every quiver of pleasure.
But still it wasn’t enough and she needed to be closer, needed him to stop being so respectful in the way he touched her. Because only mindless naked flesh against naked flesh would do, she kissed him like a starving woman, wrenching her nightgown up until her bare breasts were pressed flat against his ribs.
Yet still he held back.
‘Why won’t you touch me?’
He tore his mouth from hers then and she could just about make out his stormy irises as he stared intently into her eyes.
‘Because I need to know you are sure.’ His voice was ragged, thick with desire, and it made her feel powerful and feminine and sinfully wanton. ‘I need to know you truly want this, Lydia…that you want me.’
It was his hesitation that did it, combined with the longing in his voice. He wasn’t immune or cold or vexing in his hesitation. He was vulnerable. This mattered to him. She mattered to him.
‘I want you, Owen. All of you.’ Then, because it was true, she said what she sensed he needed to hear. ‘I always have.’
His next kiss was gloriously carnal. He sat with her astride his lap, his hungry mouth barely leaving hers for a split second as he dispensed with the barrier of her nightgown. Then his hands went on a slow exploration of frustratingly still-unchartered territory, smoothing possessively along her thighs, her hips, her ribcage before he finally filled them with her aching breasts and she moaned aloud, his thumbs tracing lazy circles around her taut nipples as he groaned into her mouth.
‘You’re beautiful.’
And she felt beautiful.
Because she could feel how much he wanted her. It was obvious in every laboured breath, the tense cords of his muscles and in the intriguingly insistent press of his hardness against her body. And Lydia revelled in it all, her back arching as his clever mouth found her breasts and his teeth tortured her nipples while she clung to him for dear life, but still needed more.
At some point during his complete assault of her senses, he must have turned them over, because suddenly she was under him and while her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his falls, his began another lazy journey downwards to the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. Then lower still.
Not only was she powerless to stop him, she needed his touch, moaning her own encouragement as he uncovered, then caressed an outrageously sensitive bundle of nerves which seemed to have the power to obliterate all rational thought.
‘I dreamed you’d be like this…’ Her shameless passion seemed to fire his desire further—which liberated her, banishing all her inhibitions.
Her body felt slick and so very sensual, and each achingly gentle and tender caress freed her to truly feel it all without the need for propriety and decorum. She didn’t care that she was naked. Didn’t care that she was wanton. He clearly adored both and that was all that mattered. As the delicious sensations built, Lydia gave up trying to remove the rest of his clothing, her hands fisting in the sheet as he continued his relentless yet magnificent siege on her body.
Her hips rose wildly when his mouth replaced his fingers and for a while she feared the delicious pleasure he was inflicting with nought but the tip of his tongue might kill her if she allowed him to continue. But if death was the price, she was happy to pay it. She called out his name, her fingers tunnelling into his hair as the world was reduced to a pinpoint of unimaginable ecstasy before it exploded like stars behind her eyes.
Rendered entirely boneless, she lay panting on the pillow, her limbs shamelessly splayed in invitation and watched fascinated as her shadowy lover stripped off what was left of his clothing, his staccato breathing as impatient as he was.
Unshackled, the male part of him was much bigger than she had imagined, but she wasn’t scared. How could she be scared when this was Owen and he was looking at her with such heat—like a man possessed and consumed entirely by her?
And unbelievably, she discovered in that pivotal moment her thirst for him wasn’t quenched. There was more to have and she wanted it all. Every last impressive inch.
She tugged him back to kiss her, her hand boldly reaching out to explore him, feeling wicked and sinful and all powerful as Owen held himself rigid while she learned the shape of him. Warm, hard, fascinating—
Entirely male.
Entirely hers.
And when she snaked her arms around his waist to drag that necessary part of him against her, he carefully covered her body with his and kissed her with such poignant tenderness it brought tears to her eyes. ‘It’s not too late…we don’t have to…’
‘Yes, we do.’ Lydia pressed her lips against his mouth and entwined her legs around his hips. ‘I want you. Can’t you see that? It’s only ever been you, Owen.’
His answering sigh was like a benediction. ‘It’s only ever been you, too, Lydia.’
‘Then for the love of God have me, Husband, because I cannot wait a second more.’
There were no nerves or anxiousness any longer as he smiled against her lips. Instinct and desire for this man had taken over her body and she marvelled at how perfect it felt to feel him gently edge inside her—to feel how that sublime invasion affected him, too. Feel his muscles bunch beneath her hands as he fought for restraint.
But she was too hungry and too impatient for him to hold back, so used her legs, hands and hips until he filled her to the hilt.
Then he paused, his forehead resting on hers, giving her time to become accustomed to the intrusion, and she felt his heart beating against hers, as she suspected it was always meant to.
And when they gazed as deeply into each other’s eyes as the darkness would allow, she had felt such a connection, such an intense and all-encompassing sense of rightness, she almost told him she still loved him.
Had always loved him, truth be told, regardless of everything.
But the intense emotion left her astounded and she hesitated, then he began to move inside her and the moment was lost in a raging torrent of fresh desire, all consuming and wonderful, before he swept her away all over again and they finally saw the stars together.