Belle took a gulp of brandy, and stared at herself in the dressing table mirror of her lavish guest chamber at Louisa’s house. A stranger stared back, not the woman she had been all her life, first just Annabel Smithson and then Lady Ranstruther. It was like looking at the person she really was only at the Rose, bold and daring. Or at least how she wanted to be. Her golden hair fell loose over her shoulders, and her lacy dressing gown frothed around her like the summer ocean, light and flimsy and revealing.
She took another sip of the brandy the butler had delivered, grateful for its warm bite at the back of her throat on a snowy evening. For its quick liquid courage. “You can do this,” she told herself. “You must!” There had been so many handsome men at dinner, men who seemed miraculously interested in her. People had romances all the time. Why shouldn’t she?
Because she feared a little romance with Will wouldn’t end up—little. Not in her own heart.
“Be brave!” she said, and swallowed the last of the brandy. Along with the champagne and claret cup at dinner, it gave her a dizzy sort of courage. She glanced at the note that had been left at her place at dinner, the note that told her which room Will was in.
She tightened the satin sash of her dressing gown, smoothed her hair, and marched to the door.
She peeked out carefully before she stepped into the dimly lit corridor. Earlier she had heard furtive footsteps hurrying past, but all was quiet and empty now. She tiptoed to the door of Will’s room, the room he had so helpfully mentioned as they left the dining room. She couldn’t worry any longer if he had meant the hint. She had to be bold.
Carefully, she turned the handle, which moved easily under her hand, surely a good sign. Everything was dark beyond, except for a ray of snow-silver moonlight at the uncovered window.
“Courage,” she reminded herself. She slipped inside and eased the door shut behind her. She could see the looming shapes of a wardrobe and table, a flicker of dying fire in the grate—the waiting bed, draped in brocade. A figure lying under the heap of satin blankets, the rhythm of steady breathing.
It was surely now or never. Seize the moment—or die a dried-up old widow. She held her breath, and let the dressing gown fall away, leaving her clad in only her gossamer chemise. The chilly air brushed over her bare skin, making her shiver. She rushed to the waiting bed and climbed up the steps onto the blankets. The warmth of Will’s sleep-hot skin, the lemon-soap smell of him, made her heart ache to be so near to him. To no longer be quite so alone.
Her husband had so seldom come to her bed, and when he did it was always so quick. Blessedly quick, given his cold hands and cruel heart. Yet in her secret soul, she had always longed for something more from someone more, dreamed of things she had only read about, heard whispered about. And now she was close, so close. She reached out to slide her hands over his shoulders…
A rough, masculine groan broke the silence of the night. “Belle, at last,” he muttered, and suddenly he rolled over and caught her around her waist, carrying her down with him to the bed. His body was hard and heavy over hers as his mouth claimed hers in that wondrous darkness.
Belle couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She gasped, and his tongue slid against hers, hungry, delicious, tasting of mint and wine. Her thoughts all flew away, leaving her floating free, no past or future to worry about, only this glorious moment.
She ran her hands eagerly over his bare back and shoulders, feeling the hot, satin strength of him, the heat. Her touch moved lower, lower, and she felt his erection under her palm. So he did want her, too.
“Blast it all, Belle,” he groaned, “but you taste wonderful. Like vanilla custard.”
“V—vanilla custard?” she whispered, wanting to giggle. Her head fell back against the pillows, her eyes drifting closed at the feel of his kiss on her throat, her bare shoulder. It made her feel burning-hot and freezing-shivering all at once.
“I do always have such a craving for sweets.” Will traced a hot ribbon of kisses along her collarbone as his deft fingers slid down the strap of her chemise. He eased it away, leaving her bare to him inch by inch.
Something deep inside of her mind screamed that this was Will touching her, kissing her, hard for her. Will who she had dreamed of for so long. And she could only want more and more.
He eased her back deeper into the pillows and drew her chemise over her head, leaving her lying naked beneath him. She had never really been completely naked in front of any man before, not even her husband. For a moment, shyness washed over her, her boldness fading, and she instinctively reached to cover her bare breasts. Will had surely seen many beautiful women before. What if she disappointed him now, vanilla custard or not?
But he caught her trembling hands in his and held them to the bed. His eyes grew hooded and dark in the shadows as he stared down at her. It felt almost as if he touched her physically, every inch of her, and she shivered.
“You are so beautiful, just like your name,” he said roughly. His arms tensed on either side of her as he held her hands down, the lean muscles rippling under that smooth skin.
And then he touched her in truth, gently caressing her naked breasts. His fingertips trailed over their curves, slightly callused against her softness. She ached so much, she bit her lip to keep from crying out, begging for more and more.
“So beautiful,” he said. “I’ve waited so long…”
He bent his head and caught her pink, hard nipple deep in his mouth, sucking, licking. She did cry out then, her head tossing on the pillows.
She twisted her fingers in his thick, rough-silk hair and pulled him up to her, sighing as his lips claimed hers in a hot, hungry kiss. She felt such a rush of pure, raw joy that he was in her arms at last. How could she ever give him up again?
But any thoughts fled before the feeling of his mouth on hers, his tongue twining with hers. He made her feel dizzy, giddy. She twisted her fingers deeper into his hair as his hands slipped down to grasp her hips and tilt her body tighter against his, until she spread her legs and wrapped them around his waist.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on so tightly as he slid inside of her, all hot, damp friction. She pushed up to meet him, and he thrust forward until he was joined to her completely.
Will drew back and thrust forward again, faster, harder, his arms braced to the bed. He caught her moans with another kiss, and deep inside she could feel a pressure grow—hot, sparkling, sizzling, something just beyond her desperate reach. But she kept reaching anyway, closer, closer…
One of his hands reached between their joined bodies and he rubbed his fingertip over that one most sensitive spot, and it felt as if she leaped free into the star-dotted sky. That knot of hot pleasure exploded into a thousand fiery shards.
“Belle!” he shouted against her shoulder as he thrust into her once more. His head fell back and his whole body tightened as he went very still against her.
Then he collapsed onto the bed beside her. She tried to draw air deep into her lungs, to breathe again as she held onto him. She didn’t want to let him go, didn’t want to let the cold, real world encroach on this dream.
She felt him bury his face against her shoulder and press his lips to her damp, trembling skin. His arm looped over his waist as if he didn’t want to let the moment go, either. She sighed, and glanced at the window. It was still snow-dark outside, but that otherworldly silvery light cast him into gilded splendor. She stroked back the sweat-dampened skeins of his hair and felt the softness of his breath against her nakedness. She closed her eyes, and wondered what she had done.
“I should—should go back to my chamber,” she whispered.
His arms tightened even more. “Stay. Just for a little while. Please, Belle.”
Just a little while. But she wanted to stay forever now. Just as she had feared.
The light from the window pierced through Will’s dreams, pulling him up from the most peaceful sleep he could ever remember having. He groaned and rolled onto his back, throwing his forearm over his eyes to block that icy-white light.
The rumpled sheet slid lower on his naked chest and he caught a hint of rosy perfume from the linen folds. Belle. It hadn’t been a dream after all. It had been wonderfully real, Belle underneath him as he kissed her, touched her, as they came apart with pleasure together.
“Belle,” he called as he pushed himself up from the pillows. But the chamber was empty and chilly.
He rubbed his hand over his bristled jaw and laughed at himself. Maybe it was some kind of dream, born of the lust he had tried to suppress for her for so long? But no, a dream could never be so vivid. He had to find Belle.
He leaped off the bed and stretched. Under the edge of one twisted blanket, he glimpsed a crumpled pale blue, lace-trimmed dressing gown. He picked it up and ran it gently through his hands, remembering the way Belle’s skin felt under his caress, the slide of her golden hair over him. The faint scent of that rose perfume rose from the satin folds and made him harden all over again. How simple it had seemed last night! Yet he knew it couldn’t be so simple in the light of day. She had run from him there in the park, and he didn’t know why. She had run from him today. What did she hide?
Will cursed and tossed the gown to the bed, turning away to the window. He braced his palms on the ledge and stared out at the cold, white, snow-dusted garden, the skeletal trees coated with sparkling ice. It looked like a different world outside, a new, clean, bright fairyland where anything could be possible, but that couldn’t be if Belle kept running. Kept hiding.
He had pushed down and ignored his feelings for her so long, knowing she was married to his neighbor. He searched for solace in other beds, other pursuits, persuading him he didn’t feel that way about her. Until that day in the rain, when they kissed, and all those feelings came roaring out of him. Now, after making love, tasting her glorious passion—he couldn’t let her keep hiding from him. He couldn’t let her run again.