“Ara mine,” he murmured against her skin, his breath and lips a brand. “You must be certain. I cannot maintain my control for much longer. I want to be a gentleman. To treat you with the honor and respect you deserve.”
He was such a good man, so honorable. She had no question, no doubt in her soul. Her hands were on him, touching him everywhere she could. “I want you now, Clay. Inside me. You are the husband of my heart, and I don’t want to wait two days.”
He buried his face in her neck, kissing all the way to her jaw as he rocked his body against hers, slowly and tentatively. “Certain, Ara?”
His skin was hot and smooth, his shoulders hard slabs, his biceps flexed as he held himself above her, keeping his full weight from her body. It seemed impossible a man so large and powerful could be capable of such gentleness, and yet he was. He touched her with a reverence that shook her.
“Certain,” she said.
His mouth claimed hers at the same time as he thrust inside her. One quick pump of his hips. Pain sliced through her at the intrusion. She flinched beneath him. The hand between their bodies stilled.
“I’m so sorry, love,” he said against her mouth. “Shall I stop?”
“No.” She kissed him again, moving beneath him. An aching burn tore through her, chased by spirals of pleasure as his fingers plied their sensual torture. How odd this claiming was, half pleasure, half pain. And yet, incomplete somehow. She wanted more. She moved again. He settled deeper inside her.
He groaned. “You feel so damn good. Too good for me, Ara. Too good. I do not deserve you.”
Yes, she wanted to say,you do. But she could not seem to speak.
He thrust deeper, stretching her, taking small, slow strokes until he was all the way inside her, and she was so full. Her body adapted to him. As he worked her with his clever fingers, the pain receded. In its place wasthe despicable thing, accompanied by the need for friction. For more.
They kissed and kissed. Slowly, he began to move, giving her what she wanted. In and out he thrust, unhurriedly at first but then faster. Kissing her with such aching tenderness that tears leaked from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. He found them, caught them with his lips.
“Am I hurting you, my love?” He stilled, gazing down at her, concern furrowing his brow.
“You could never hurt me,” she said, managing to find her voice. She urged him to continue by undulating her hips, bringing him deeper once more. “I am happy. So very happy.”
He found her lips, fed her his tongue, his kiss firm and demanding, yet giving and sensual all at once. She never wanted him to stop kissing her, just as she never wanted his body to part from hers. She wished she could keep him here forever, their skin melded together, bodies as one with him inside her, his tongue and his taste in her mouth.
He was her entire world. He was the sun and the moon and the stars, the days and the nights, and every breath.
And she was coming undone. Flying. Her body exploded like firecrackers in a dark sky. With him inside her, the pleasure was even more intense. She tightened, losing herself, shaking, crying out. He slid in and out, faster and faster, and then he thrust deep inside her one last time as bliss rippled through her, curling her toes.
He tore his mouth from hers and threw back his head, crying out her name as he spent inside her. Another tremor hit her, and she was helpless. Mindless. Filled with love and filled with Clay.
“I love you,” she whispered, holding him tightly to her as their hearts pounded in unison.
They held each other in silence for a long time, nothing but the crackling of the fire and the steady reassurance of their breaths interrupting. When they did not dare tarry any longer, Clay tenderly cleaned her with a handkerchief and they helped each other to dress.
The ride back to Kingswood Hall was over too soon.
They parted with a long, slow kiss in the darkness. When Ara slipped back inside her chamber, she could not sleep, the happiness within her so strong she vibrated with it. She stood at the window for a long time, fancying she could see Clay standing below, watching her in return, as reluctant to leave her behind as she was him. The moon bathed the park in a silver glow. The stars seemed brighter than she had ever seen them.
At last, she forced herself away from the window, sat at her writing desk, and confessed her elation in the only fashion she dared trust: to the pages of her journal. She signed her name at the bottom with a flourish.
Mrs. Clayton Ludlow.
Chapter Fourteen
One moment, Arahad been alone in the garden, staring into the sculpted hedges and trying to calm her racing heart and mind. The next, a crunch of tread on gravel alerted her to another presence.
She turned, expecting the interloper to be Clay, returned from wherever he had disappeared to in the wake of her revelation. Hours had passed. Rains had come and gone. And still he had not reappeared. She was desperate to know what his next move would be. Terrified of how her admission would impact Edward. Frightened of the power Clay could wield over her.
But when her eyes settled upon the unfamiliar face and form of a stranger, all her terror and fear turned into abject horror. The man stood at a distance, a bowler hat pulled low over his brow. His countenance was grim. Menacing. Dark-red splatters stained his coat and trousers.Blood.The hilt of a vicious-looking blade glinted in his hand, also dripping with gore.
And she knew.
She knew he was here to kill her.
