He didn’t know where to begin. How did one approach a dream? How had his life’s problem become solved and intricately more complicated at the same time? As often experienced, his desires existed at cross purpose, but none of that would deter him from experiencing this moment with Lavinia. He’d longed to be in this self-same position and wouldn’t waste it with contemplation now.
‘May I?’ He lifted the dove-grey ribbons at her collar. ‘I doubt you’re comfortable in your travelling coat and I’ve so much to tell you.’
With a brief smile she nodded in assent, somehow knowing his explanation exceeded the bounds of simple reasoning. He removed her coat and folded it with care, draping it nearby on the ladder-back chair before lying his coat upon the seat. He settled beside her, matching her gaze with hope to communicate the miraculous joy pulsing through him.
‘I must explain. Had I believed and not given up that we would somehow unite…’
She placed her hand on his arm and he waited.
‘You needn’t try to assuage your actions. I, too, let go of the dream.’ She laughed softly, as if what she was about to confess amused her. ‘After our kiss at the opera, I could no longer languish for Randolph. I believed that part of my life finished and a new romance begun. Little did I know I was saying goodbye to you, so that I could in turn offer my loyal affection to you.’
As she’d spoken, he’d pulled closer, their mouths separated by a thread of anticipation, nothing more. It seemed every wish, hope and desire had melded into this one moment, a pinnacle of years of wonder.
‘This isn’t a mistake.’ He needed to know she wanted their future as much as he.
‘Isn’t it, though?’ Her sigh of resignation whispered past his jaw and he nuzzled her cheek, urging her eyes upward to match his.
‘I will see this through, Livie. You will be my wife, no one else. You must trust and believe in me. Can you do that, my love?’
Her eyes grew wide behind her petite spectacles. Perhaps she hadn’t expected such a bold assertion of dedication, but by damn, if he didn’t act now, when his future lay within grasp, he’d forever regret the words he hadn’t shared. He didn’t confess that he’d give it all up, his title, wealth, easily sacrificed for the affection of her heart, meant to express how highly placed his regard.
Silence stretched thin with fine-spun emotion until the slightest smile curved her lips. ‘Oh, yes, I trust you beyond all limits.’
And then all boundaries disappeared, as if they’d waited with fragile patience for consent and now were granted permission to pursue their heart’s wildest desire.
He captured her mouth in a plea that quickly turned uncivilised. Hands skimmed fabric, fingers tugged ribbons and yanked buttons loose, the two falling to the mattress in a tangle of arms, legs and hot, deep kisses. Instinct overruled sensibility, desire conquered etiquette, and any wisdom which warned his actions were inherently wrong was dismissed without the slightest consideration. His ardour ramped with her assertive exploration, the play of her tongue against his, as if they duelled, both seeking to win the match. She tasted fresh and rare, like fine expensive brandy, and he drank her forbidden flavour; addicted, seeking and anxious for all she offered. Her hands skimmed his waistcoat, her fingers pressing into his shoulders, and he tensed and tightened, wanting so much, so fast, he could not hold back. She was warm, soft and inviting, every physical fantasy he’d nurtured for so long; the ache to explore her velvety soft skin, to touch, possess and pleasure her as she’d never experienced, drove him to the breaking point.
He pulled away from their kiss, heaving hard breaths, his pulse racing. He undressed at the bedside, watching, his eyes locked with hers as he shed his waistcoat, pulled loose his tails, his hands stalled motionless at the fall of his breeches.
He waited. How dare he ask for such a gift?
Livie rose from the mattress, her hands at her shoulders where she lowered the fabric of her gown, smoothly to her waist, exposing layers of feminine armour. He’d enjoy plundering past each wall of silk and cotton. Her expression grew curious as she set her spectacles aside, then more so delighted, and when he knew his patience frayed through to an end, she extended her hand, offering herself and inviting him to the bed.
He bent one knee upon the mattress, leaning forward, his heart thundering with urgency, yet his desire to please commanded the action. ‘Is this what you want, Livie? Once our hearts are joined… you will own mine forever.’
A glow of reverence flooded her face and she laid her palm across her breast, her eyes teary. ‘You already have mine. You’ve kept it safe for more days than I can count. Do not disappoint me now.’
He climbed upon the mattress, his hands cradling her face and the pads of his fingertips resting against the delicate underside of her jaw, the tender skin whisper-thin where he could feel her pulse quicken, the moment’s exhilaration rushing through her veins, the same as life’s blood poured to his groin, hard and aching for release. He reclined beside her, her hands sliding with gentle insistence over the layers of linen and cotton. His breath caught. He would never last. He wanted her skin, to touch the heat of her pulse with his lips, the velvet softness of her breasts, the warm silk of her thighs. Heat pumped through him, strong and insistent, like a fever out of control. He needed to undress her, love her with his eyes before devouring her with his body. He worked the buttons at the side of her gown, unlacing and revealing, her carefree laughter invigorating his actions, the rush of their playful discovery so much more than he’d ever experienced, their connection complete.
‘Lavinia…’ She settled on her back, her body bare aside from a thin chemise and pantelets. He waited a few beats, her beauty arresting his speech. At last he forced the words. ‘Once this is done, there’s no reclaiming what’s passed.’
She shook her head the slightest. ‘Randolph, I came here to find you. To claim our past… words and feelings begun years ago and now realised. I want this, as much as you, or perhaps more so.’
Her voice held conviction and honest intention.
He sighed an exhale of relief.
He didn’t know where to touch first; every inch of Livie seemed a fantasy – the slope of her shoulder, curve of her waist, long, slender legs. He’d dreamed, how he’d dreamed, of the feel of her beside him, but nothing had prepared him for the deliciousness of her skin. He needed to temper his desire. How long could he keep ardour on a tight leash? His cock hardened with insistence, urging him to get on with it, while his mind scolded she was an innocent, and he hardly a rake given to scandalous passion. He would not ruin the moment. He couldn’t.
He began with a kiss to her temple, for he loved her mind first, before whispering adoration in her ear as he made way to worship her mouth. One kiss melted into another and he adjusted his position above, her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him in place as their mouths played and teased, his body tight with want. They communicated in silence, the truth of their intimacy expressed through sighs and murmurs. She was fluid beneath him, melting in his arms, perfectly fitted, his thighs aligned within hers, cradled, fiercely aroused. Did she know what to expect?
She slid her palm between them and brushed across his erection as if she’d read his mind and wished to answer his question.
‘Does it hurt?’ Her voice was nothing more than a precious whisper against his mouth.
‘It is a pleasurable pain, if that makes sense.’ He smiled. He couldn’t help it. He never shared conversation during intimacy, most certainly never like this… never with Livie.
‘Will it be the same for me?’
The erotic question stirred his blood or maybe it was more so that she stroked the front of his trousers again. He gritted his teeth in patience, willing himself to focus on answering her question. ‘I am told it may be a more painful pleasure.’ He couldn’t expound further. He’d never been with an innocent, his conservative experience reserved for widows and discreet females generous with their favours.
‘Then we will experience it together.’ Her voice sounded enthralled, happily anticipating what was to come, and she wriggled free from where he’d sheltered her with his body, gaining space enough to cross arms over her chest and remove her chemise. Any comment he might have uttered dissolved on his tongue. Perhaps he’d behaved too tentatively. Still, he would not leap upon her though his pulse jumped, his heart bounded.
One breath became two. He pulled her forward, embraced against his chest, holding tight as their hearts beat in sync, breathing steadied in tandem, absorbing the quiet pleasure of her scent, the arch of her back against his palm, the caress of bare skin. He kissed her temple, rubbed his chin against her cheek and captured her mouth.
The lazy fire in the grate, mute to this point, hissed and snapped with startling interruption and she nestled closer, offering trust. So many things remained unfinished, disguised behind layers of words and emotion, but temptation overruled rational thought and with each of her innocent entreaties he grew hot, too hot.
They had little time, no time, really. Their story unfolded in the wrong order, yet this, this was now and there was no reliving the past, and he would have what he’d desired for so long.
Her hands inched the hem of his shirt upward as if she knew and grew impatient, so he removed it, flung to the side with abandon, while her fingers smoothed over his muscles, traced the scar above his ribcage, investigated every ripple and tightened reflex until at last she laid her cheek against his heart and closed her eyes. He pressed a kiss to her scalp and breathed deep, her scent filling him, but she didn’t allow the tenuous silence to endure. She reached for his hands, intertwining her fingers, and tugged him over her, her pantelets against trousers, the rigid press of his arousal cradled against her soft sex. He lost all hold on temperance and surrendered to desire.
She was beautiful; high breasts, lush curves and sweet skin, burnished by fractured firelight so pale and pink, he couldn’t think straight for the sight. God take him, he wanted her. Daring to touch, he dipped his mouth to taste her breast and her hands flew to his biceps, gripping his upper arms, making a sound that expressed precious pleasure as she wriggled beneath him. He angled to the side, cupping her smooth flesh, teasing the tip of one breast then the other. He couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t last. Yet they had so little time. Only this time.
He smoothed one hand down the front of her pantelets, his fingers seeking the lace-trimmed band and then further to the opening where he traced a line as the fabric parted. Then he sank into soft, heated flesh. He heard her sharp inhale, found her hot and wet and ready. She trembled to the core, the sensual vibration echoed in his groin and he stroked with delicate pressure, a tease that tortured him in equal measure. Never had he exercised such temperance. A whimpered, willing cry escaped as she ground her hips into the bed, attempting escape but inviting attention with each tentative movement. This was new, the experience unclaimed; and anxious to please, he rubbed harder, deeper, stroking her sweet, slick centre, the tight bud of sensitivity against his fingertip, then the warm wet path to her centre.
Pure sensual abandon. There was no other way to describe the expression on her face. He watched as her lids fell closed, creased and twitched, reacting to each deliberate rub issued with elegant skill. She grew restless, seeking something and not knowing how to achieve it. He smiled and stroked more purposely, placing his thumb across her centre as he dipped his finger into her core. She gasped, delight and shock, a murmur of contented satisfaction fast to follow.
Offering pleasure became excruciating torment. How long could he last? To touch and tease, prepare, when all he wanted was to drive into her, bury deep and claim the woman he’d come to love, a woman who possessed his heart, mind and soul, who would someday become his wife.
He couldn’t stop now. He wanted, he loved, and no matter his brain hummed with urgent warning, he needed Lavinia. With insistent rhythm he worked his fingers to seduce and taunt, and all the while she melted beneath his touch, dissolving in pursuit of elusive gratification. He urged her further, stroked, rubbed with intention, knowing he tested the boundaries of his own thin restraint.
And then, with a plea that was more composed moan, she shuddered, her climax all-consuming as she surrendered to the sensations coursing through her. He watched and savoured, a private voyeur, so stiff his cock ached, yet unwilling to impose on her bliss.
She must have sensed his confliction, aware as she seemed to be, and she stilled, twisting on the counterpane to face him, kissing him on the mouth in distraction as her fingers found the buttons of his trousers. It proved his undoing. Again, his undoing.
He took her mouth, swallowed her gasp of surprise and pushed her hands away. With deft accuracy he opened his falls, but the little minx persisted, sliding her hand down the length of his taut shaft, erasing all thought with a bold stroke of erotic invitation. His mind blanked when she touched his cock. His breathing seized. She didn’t know what to do, yet that sweet ignorance made her caresses all the more erotic. Quick to learn, she moved her hand up, then down, his grunt of appreciation spurring her to repeat the motion, more purposeful and tight. His muscles tensed, his eyes half-lidded, the pleasure too great to withstand much longer, yet she continued, determined in her task.
‘Shall I kiss you there, too?’
The mattress dipped and he felt her move closer, his eyes clenched against sensation. When her hair feathered against his ribs, he lost the battle she’d waged. Unable to stop the intense, consuming pleasure, he rolled aside and pulsed hot and hard, recovering his shirt from the mattress at the last moment.