Clenching the stem of her glass, she allowed him to guide her away from the ballroom, mind whirling with the implications of the emotions that could no longer be contained. How could she bear to remain at Whitley House and perpetuate her deceptions?
Chapter Sixteen
He had welland truly muddled his attempt at wooing her. In recriminating silence, Crispin led Jacinda to the private chamber on the second floor that Duncan had reserved for his use, sliding the lock home once they were on the other side lest anyone attempt to intrude. The chamber was familiar to him, with dark walls and red silk drapery, dominated by a large bed and a wall outfitted with one-way viewing portals to the chamber adjacent should one be so inclined.
He had often been inclined in the past, but the prurient view beyond the chamber did not call to him just now. All he cared about was Jacinda. She had been so damned silent and pale in the ballroom he had feared she would flee into the night.
He turned to find her standing a few paces from him, sipping from her glass. She was so bloody beautiful in her ethereal rose dress that it robbed him of breath each time he truly drank his fill. The short, capped sleeves had been fashioned into silken petals of flowers, leaving her creamy upper arms bare above her buff gloves. Her bosom was high and full and mouthwatering, her lean waist perfectly accentuated by the gown’s fitting. A gown that had been commissioned solely for her could not have been more perfect, and he could not stop staring.
But he had not brought her here to the privacy of this chamber to ogle her, he reminded himself. He had brought her here because she was angry with him, and he could not bear to be the cause of her displeasure.
“If you wish it, I will cancel the gowns,” he said into the silence.
“It is not the gowns but the expectation.” Her tone was quiet.
Her words were not. He needed her to understand he was not attempting to buy her favors. He wanted to woo and win her, not to force her into anything she did not want. His need of her was so strong and so pathetic, he would be willing to accept anything she gave him, any part of her, however small.
“I have no expectations. The gowns are a gift, much like the flowers you crushed into my chest and left upon the floor of my study yesterday.” He could not quite expunge the bitterness from his words. “All I want is to make you happy, Jacinda, however I may, and in whatever manner you will allow.”
Because she made him happy. She filled the hollowness inside him. Chased the darkness with her light. She was as compulsory to him as air.
“Becoming your mistress would not make me happy, Crispin.” Sadness underscored her words, and he felt the weight of the emotion sink into his marrow. “I would be miserable.”
He understood her pride would not allow it, and he accepted that. What he could not accept was not having her. One day, one night—this bloody borrowed time she allowed him, was not enough, damn it. In the short time since she had come into his life, she had wrought so much change. She had helped to free him from the dark depths to which he had sunk in the wake of Morgan’s death.
The truth of it—of how much he required her—choked him. He swallowed down the knot rising in his throat, and went to her, staring down into her eyes, willing her to see it for herself. “I do not need a mistress. I needyou.”
Curse it, he had never said such a thing to a woman before. Had never before been or felt so bloody vulnerable.
Her eyes widened, molten honey glittering in the warm depths. Her lips parted. “You already have me.”
Restlessness surged inside him, mingling with a churning brew of too many other emotions to count. He had spent years of his life at war, hardening himself to all sentiment. He had killed without compunction, had faced enemy fire without fear. And yet, this one petite woman who had swept into his study one ordinary morning, had the power to make him feel. So much power in her small, fine-boned hands, in her lush pink lips, in her every word and deed.
It was fucking terrifying.
Too terrifying to continue contemplating. Instead, he plucked the glass from her fingers, depositing it on a table before returning to her. The time for talking was done. Tenderly, he cupped her face, lowering his mouth to hers. She opened for him with a sigh, clutching his shoulders. Her breasts, full and high in her glorious gown, pressed into his chest.
They kissed as if it was their last, as though they had been starved for and deprived of each other longer than a mere day. Lips and teeth and tongues collided. What remained of his control snapped, and she was every bit as desperate as he was. Their hands tore at each other’s clothes. Buttons and fastenings opened. Knots came undone. Kisses and caresses punctuated each revealed swath of skin.
Naked at last, they came together atop the bed. She urged him onto his back, tearing her mouth from his to kiss down his neck, to his chest. His already rigid cock went even harder as she kissed down the taut plane of his abdomen. In his fervor to get her nude, he had neglected to take down her hair. As she kissed to the jut of his hipbone, finding his puckered scars and placed reverent kisses upon them as well, he plucked every pin he could find until her tresses rained down in glorious, silken fire.
Lower still she went, settling between his thighs, looking up at him shyly. “Tell me what will please you.”
Good, sweet Lord.He should not ask it of her, and yet he could not resist. “Touch me here.” He guided her hand to his ballocks.
She palmed him in a feather-light caress. “Like this?”
“Harder.” As one, their hands moved. He showed her how he liked to be touched. Her movements grew more confident. Desire licked down his spine. “God, yes, love. Now take me into your mouth.”
Her lips parted without hesitation, and she did as he instructed. The warm wetness of her mouth engulfed him, and he lost the ability to think. He wrapped a hand in the lush skeins of her locks, the breath hissing from him when she flicked her tongue over his crown. The sight of his engorged prick between her petal-pink lips was enough to undo him. “I am going to spend in your mouth if you do not stop,” he cautioned through gritted teeth.
The only acknowledgment she made of his warning was a deep, rumbling purr of feminine satisfaction that he felt all the way to the base of his cock. A groan tore from him. He was helpless beneath her, her willing slave. His hips pumped, seeking more, wanting release. And she obliged him, prolonging her sensual torture until he could hold back no more. He lost himself, his ballocks tightening in a violent release down her throat.
Heart thudding, he hauled her over his body, arms clamping around her to hold her to him. He buried his face in the sweetly-scented hair at her crown, pressed a kiss there, and wished he could keep her there forever, in the moment, naked and his alone.
She kissed his chest directly above his heart. “I am in love with you, Crispin.”
Bloody hell.No one had ever said those words to him before. And far from igniting a panicked sense of dread in him as he might have supposed they would, they had the opposite effect. A pervasive sense of warmth blossomed in his chest and possessiveness roared through him with such fury he had to grind his teeth.
