Folly Page 6

  And then she came.

  Ah. She came. Scratching, mewling, scrabbling against him, a wild creature in the throes of ecstasy. She drew him in deeper with her spasms. Tighter, harder, sweeter, she squeezed him, stroked him, rode him.

  He exploded. Imploded. Erupted. A delirious burn scored him, a hot wild rush as his semen gushed from him into her. He thrust deeper, toward the mouth of her womanhood, letting the hot tide ride its way into her womb, willing it to take hold, infuse her, make her forever his.

  Afterward, he held her there against the wall, catching his breath, regaining his foothold in this world. Then he kicked off his trousers, lifted her gently and carried her to the bed. He wet a cloth in the bowl on the night table and wiped her clean. He curled up beside her and, covering them both with a blanket, rested.

  He hardly cared that he was still wearing his dinner shirt and meticulously tied cravat.

  Sometime later—he wasn’t sure if it had been several hours or several days—Eleanor stirred. Ethan caught her around the waist as she tried to leave the bed. The fire had burned down to embers, so he could only see shadows. But he could tell what she was doing. She was leaving.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She froze at his dark tone. “To my room.”

  “I’m not finished with you yet.”

  Perhaps it was his imagination but she seemed to pale. The trembling, though, he was certain of. He lifted the covers and urged her back beside him. She lay there, stiff as a board, with her arms by her sides, her hands fisted shut.

  Dear God. She was quaking like a leaf.

  “What’s wrong?” A sudden chagrin gripped at his gut as he recalled what he had asked her to do with the candle. Now, at this moment, with the fist of lust released, he realized how mortifying the request must have been for her. As arousing at it had been for him to watch, doubtless, she thought him a wicked satyr.

  “N-nothing.”

  “Eleanor. You’re shaking.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try to stop.” In this, she held her breath. It didn’t help. She trembled even more.

  “Eleanor.” He gave her a little shake. Her eyes flew open. They were lit with something akin to horror. A skirling, barbed thought flickered through his mind. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No.” A tiny peep. Her tone called the word a lie.

  Another thought, dark and deep, surfaced. “Did…did I hurt you?” God. He’d lost all control when he’d entered her, when he’d drawn in her scent and recognized her as his Mignon, as his mate. That he could have hurt her… Hell. The thought made him feel so small.

  She stared at him. Her fear replaced by confusion. “What?”

  “Did I hurt you? Was I too rough? There. Against the wall?” God. He’d taken her against the wall. Her first time with him and he’d taken her against the wall.

  “No. It was…” She trailed off but her expression said it all. That and the knowing smile. So she had enjoyed their tryst. That left one thing.

  “The candle. Was it…did you…”

  “That was wonderful too. It felt so wicked.”

  “Then why were you trembling just now?”

  She looked away. “You said…”

  “What. What did I say?” He desperately thought back, trying to remember what on earth he could have said to frighten her so.

  “You said you weren’t finished with me.” This, she whispered. He barely heard her.

  “I’m not finished.” He chuckled and pulled her closer, tucking her warm skin against his. “I want to take you at least one more time tonight.”

  She her eyes went wide and limpid. “You want to take me again? That’s what you meant?”

  “Of course. What else—” But he never finished. Her lips found his in a balmy kiss, her fingers began tugging at his dammed annoying cravat, and her hip rubbed against him.

  And he was lost.

  There was no more lucid conversation for quite a long, long while.

  Chapter Five

  Eleanor awoke, feeling warm and happy and sated. She stilled when, as she emerged from a lovely dream, she realized there was a long heavy arm curled around her body. The events of the previous night rushed back and she blushed from tip to toes.

  Dear heavens. Had she really done that? Had he?

  After the first encounter, with the candle—she shuddered in recollection of that erotic memory—and the hard, frantic coupling against the wall, there had been another, more gentle, slower entangling. And another still. She ached now, between her legs, but it was a pleasant ache.

  At first, she’d been frightened to death to agree to Pennington’s bargain but had decided she had no choice. She needed a child to secure her future. She needed…

  Oh, who was she trying to fool? She’d always found Pennington attractive—wildly attractive. As a married woman, she’d castigated herself for having such lurid thoughts about him. She’d avoided him. Never met his eye. Never spoken directly to him. And it had worked. Until last night.

  Last night, when he’d looked at her with such heat, such interest, all those old, repressed longings came to the fore.

  She would have acquiesced to his demands—all of them—even if she hadn’t been in such dire straits.

  And it had been worth it.

  After years of cold, painful coupling, this orgy of sensation, of satisfaction, of sensuality, had been like a cool drink of water after an eternity in the wilderness.

  She wanted it again.

  Now.

  The thought surprised her.

  With Ulster, she’d never wanted.

  In fact, other than her mystery lover at the Carlisle-Grant bacchanal, she had never wanted.

  She rolled over slowly so as not to disturb him and peered at his sleeping countenance. The harsh lines were relaxed in sleep, softened. He was always striking, but like this he was irresistible.

  Pennington.

  Ethan.

  She sighed. My, he was handsome. His face had an angelic beauty, even intersected as it was by that hideous scar—ever a reminder of Ulster’s perfidy. His lashes, long and thick, fanned out over his cheek, his nose was long and proud, like an eagle, his lips, well his lips were just tempting. She knew the feel of them. Longed for their taste. His chin was dusted with the thick dark stubble of his night beard.

  She stroked him, running her fingertips languorously over the rough landscape.

  His eyes opened. She was snared in a silver gaze. Her heart pounded in her chest. How would he react to finding her still in his bed? Would it…anger him?

  But no. He smiled. Lazily, sleepily. He levered up and pressed a long, slow kiss on her lips. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” She sighed and sat up. “I should go.”

  He twined his fingers through her hair and pulled her closer, nuzzled her neck. “No. Not yet.”

  “The servants will be up soon.”

  He kissed her again. “I don’t care.”

  As delicious as his lips were—and they were—she pulled back. “I-I care.” Slowly, cautiously, she edged away.

  His was still tangled in her hair. He stopped her. “I’ll lock the door.”

  “Pennington—”

  “Ethan.”

  “Ethan. I must go. I cannot be seen leaving your room. Certainly not in last night’s frock.”

  “Then let’s go to your room.”

  “Ethan!” His attention had begun to wander, he’d found the tender flesh of her breasts, her nipple. A wash of savage arousal consumed her.

  “I’m not ready to let you go. Not yet.”

  “Ethan, I can’t. Helena and I have plans for the day.”

  He grinned. “This won’t take long.” He grabbed her arms and pulled her on top of him. His body was muscular and hard and oh so warm beneath her, his cock a rocky ridge against her belly. She was tempted. Really, she was.

  She wriggled against him in an attempt to get away. He groaned.

  “I must go.”


  His response was to roll over, with Eleanor in tow, until she was buried in the feather tick, with his weight pinning her. His mouth found her neck and nibbled there, sending shards of sensation through to her core. She wriggled again and her legs inadvertently separated.

  Surely it was inadvertent?

  Ethan didn’t hesitate. He lifted his lower body and shifted down, and before she had a moment to protest—thank God—he slipped inside her.

  Her body ached from the night before but the thick length of his cock easing in, filling her and nudging deep, massaged the pain away.

  A new kind of ache arose. She moaned as he withdrew and then groaned as he thrust back in. Oh, he worked her. In and out and in again.

  And as his body moved over her, he plucked at her nipples, rubbed her throbbing bud and stroked her hot skin in tender spots she never knew she had. Her mind spun, her heart thudded, her breath came out in pants as he drew her closer and closer to bliss.

  When his thrusts were hard and deep and fast, when they were both sheened in sweat and straining, when the tightness in her belly had reached an unbearable intensity, he nipped at her neck. With teeth and lips and tongue, he tormented her there, where her skin was most sensitive, where nerve endings seemed to scream for his touch.

  And she felt it. The magic. The beauty. It rose up within her causing her muscles to tighten and quiver.

  “Yes. Eleanor.” He felt it too. She could tell. By the look in his eyes, hard and wild and desperate. By the tension in his body, taut and hot and slick. By the tenor of his thrusts, short and determined and feral.

  His cock swelled and jerked within her, flooding her with warmth as he released his seed.

  He kept moving, even after, as though his body didn’t want this to end. Eleanor understood. She didn’t want it to end either, for it was wonderful, He was wonderful.

  They should enjoy this while they could. Who knew what the future would hold.

  When they recovered, Ethan escorted Eleanor to her room and, after scaring off her maid with a dark glower, made love to her once again—this time in her bed. Afterward he helped her bathe. And dress. It was well into the morning by the time they emerged.

  Ethan scanned the hall first, to make sure no servants lingered there, and then ushered Eleanor out. He grinned to himself as he caught sight of their reflections in the mirror. They could be a proper married couple heading out to greet the day.

  He blinked.

  Where that thought had come from, he did not know.

  “I do hope we’re not too late for breakfast,” she said, checking her hair one last time.

  Ethan chuckled and took over, tucking a wayward strand into the neat bun he had, with great pleasure, created. “Are you hungry, my little one?”

  She shot him a bemused glance. “Why did you call me that?”

  “Little one?”

  “Yes.” She gestured down her length with an elegant hand. “I am hardly small.”

  He looped an arm around her trim waist and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You’re small to me.”

  And that’s how they stood, there in the hall, for anyone to see, when the door to their left swung open.

  Ethan quickly stepped away, trying to ignore the sharp annoyance spearing him. Though he’d had her innumerable times during the night and this morning, he didn’t want to release her from his grasp. Not yet. Not yet.

  But he couldn’t be seen embracing her. It simply wouldn’t do. If their secret got out—to anyone other than her loyal maid—she would likely demand they cease their activities.

  He didn’t like that they had to keep this a secret. He didn’t like that he had no right to claim her in public. But this was the world in which they lived.

  So he dropped his arms and moved away from her just as Helena poked her head out of the door to her suite of rooms.

  “Darling. It’s you. Thank heavens.”

  “Helena.” Eleanor’s concerned tone caught his attention and he glanced at Darlington’s wife. She looked wretched. She was pale, her dress disheveled and her typically flawless coiffure was awry. She looked like she’d just been tumbled. “Are you all right?”

  “I feel awful.” Helena put a hand to her belly. “I was coming to tell you I simply cannot…” Her throat worked. She slapped a hand over her mouth and breathed deeply through her nostrils. The moment passed. “Oh dear. I was coming to tell you I cannot join you this morning.”

  “Helena, dearest. That’s fine. We can go another day.”

  “I know how much you wanted to order your dresses before…” Helena suddenly noticed Ethan standing next to her friend and trailed off. “Um. Soon.” She offered a nearly imperceptible nod. “Pennington.”

  “Good morning, my lady.” He bowed deeply. “I’m sorry you are under the weather.”

  “Thank you, Pennington.” She turned back to Eleanor, studied her. “Darling, have you done something different with your hair?”

  Eleanor lifted a hand and smoothed a curl. She bit her lip—perhaps to hold back a smile. She’d had a different hairdresser this morning. It had taken him nearly an hour to tame her wild curls.

  “No. I just decided to go with a simpler style today.” She did smile now and Ethan found himself biting his lip as well to hold back a responding grin. Eleanor patted Helena’s arm. “Don’t worry about our shopping trip, dear. We can do it another day.”

  “I can take you.” Ethan surprised himself with the spontaneous offer but not nearly as much as he surprised the two women. They gaped at him as though he had spontaneously sprouted a second head. No doubt they thought him ludicrous, but suddenly it didn’t seem like an absurd prospect in the least. For one thing, he would spend the morning with Eleanor. And, all things considered, that was what he wanted more than anything.

  “Really, Pennington.” Eleanor did have a charming smile, when she gave it rein. Three dimples blossomed on her right cheek. He filed away a mental note to explore them later with his tongue. “You needn’t put yourself out.”

  He bowed. “I live to serve, Lady Eleanor.”

  Helena eyed him warily. Her gaze slid back to her friend. “I do feel terrible. Abandoning you like this.”

  Eleanor took Helena’s hands in her own. “Nonsense. We’ll be fine. Oh, Helena. You’re as cold as ice. You should lie down.” Her brow puckered. “Perhaps I should stay with you.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it.” Helena drew back and gripped the door. Ethan noticed her knuckles were white, her body trembling.

  “Has Darlington called the doctor?”

  A deep voice resounded behind them. “Darlington has, indeed, called the doctor.” James stepped around Ethan and glared at his wife. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  She flushed. “I was coming to talk to Eleanor.”

  “I told you not to get out of bed. I told your maid you were not to get out of bed. Where is that girl?”

  “James, please. Don’t blame her. I insisted. I wanted to talk to Eleanor.”

  Darlington growled. He actually growled. “You could have sent a note.”

  “That is hardly the same—” But whatever Helena was going to say devolved into a loud squawk as James swept her up into his arms and marched back into the room, closing the door on his guests with a sharp kick.

  “Dear me,” Eleanor murmured.

  “I do believe we’ve been dismissed.”

  Eleanor nibbled her lower lip, her eyes wide. “Quite.” He took her arm and led her to the great curving staircase. “He was rather…”

  “Possessive?”

  Certainly. “I was thinking domineering. The way he swept her into his arms and carried her off.”

  Ethan slowed as they reached the marble foyer. “From your tone, the breathless way you say the word…”

  “Yes?”

  He shrugged. “It makes a man wonder.”

  “W-wonder what?”

  “If you weren’t a tad jealous.”

  “Jealous? Nonsense.
Darlington is my best friend’s husband.”

  “Not jealous that Helena has Darlington, my little one. Jealous that she has a domineering man to take her in hand.”

  A red tide rose on her cheeks. It was a delightful sight. She glanced away. “I cannot know what you mean.”

  Ethan laughed. “Can you not?” He took her arm and steered her into the breakfast room, relieved to see the sideboard was still covered with chafing dishes. “Eat up, little one. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  “We do?”

  “We do. For I am taking you shopping, whether you want to go or not.”

  * * * * *

  “Seriously, Ethan.” Eleanor sat back in the carriage as the horses lurched forward. “You cannot think to escort me to the dressmakers. You’ll expire from boredom.”

  He grinned across at her. Heavens. He was beguiling. Especially when he smiled. “I’ll find something to entertain me.” His grin turned wicked. “In fact…” He stood, bracing his legs against the sway of the coach, and sat next to her. “Ah. Much better.” He pulled her into his arms and held her close.

  “Ethan.” She pushed away. “Surely this is not proper.”

  “Surely, it isn’t. That’s what makes it so much fun.”

  She had to laugh, she just had to. His expression was so boyish, his demeanor so playful. When she smiled, when she softened, he kissed her. He took her lips with his and nuzzled her, stroking and lapping and urging her to wildness.

  When his hand slipped beneath her petticoats and skimmed up her bare legs, she didn’t even protest. He found her pearl and rubbed, circled the damp nub. All the way into Exeter, he stroked her and kissed her and toyed with her until she was a panting lust-flown quivering pudding.

  It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t. Because when they pulled into town and the coach began to slow, he sat back and released her with a knowing smile. He knew she was nearly there. He knew she was quaking with the need for release. He knew her nipples were hard and tender, and her body wept for fruition.