And she did not wish.
They moved together in a wild rhythm, thrusting, kissing. Sounds emerged from her throat. Mewling, breathy, helpless sounds. In and out he thrust, water lapping against their bodies, mouths mating. She sucked his tongue. He growled. More water flew from the tub as their lovemaking grew increasingly unrestrained.
He broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down her throat. As she slammed down upon him once more, he bit her shoulder. It was all she needed to fly over the edge. She clenched on him, drawing him as deep as she could, and trembled with the power of her release. Nell could not choke back her cry of triumphant bliss.
“Nellie,” he groaned against her skin, rocking beneath her. “God, Nellie you feel so good.”
She could say the same of him, but she was beyond words. Incapable of thought or speech. She could do nothing but ride the waves of her pinnacle. Nothing but ride him. He moved beneath her, his body tensing, and she knew he was close. Another fierce pump, and a delicious warmth spilled inside her. He came on a ragged cry, biting her shoulder again as he emptied himself within her.
She clutched him to her, sated and boneless and breathless, wishing this moment would never end.
Knowing that for her own self-preservation and the sake of her heart, it must.
Chapter Twelve
JACK WOKE JUSTas he had every morning for the past three years.
Alone.
Curse it, he should have carried Nell to his bed in the midst of the night when they had finished in the bath. She had been flushed and sleepy and surprisingly compliant. He had suspected persuading her to sleep with him would not have required much coaxing.
But he was doing his utmost not to rush her. To allow this—whatever it was—between them to proceed at her pace. It was deuced difficult. Because all he wanted to do was to drag her into his arms and kiss the devil out of her. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted her to let him back into her heart. He wanted her belly swelling with his child. Wanted her to choosehim.
He did not fool himself that any of those things would be easy to accomplish. As it was, the old passions flaring between them were the only reason she had allowed him to make love to her. Their attraction had always been undeniable. It was how he had known, the moment he had first seen her at a sailing regatta so long ago, that he was going to make her his wife.
And he had.
But then, he had lost her.
Grimly, he flipped back the bedclothes and rose. He had a chance now to regain what they once had. At first, he had supposed his persistence would be enough. But having her body was not enough. He wanted all of her.
A new strategy occurred to him, one that would require a return to the past, in a sense. A return to when they had first fallen in love.
He donned his dressing gown and rang for his valet.
Denning arrived and guided him through his morning ablutions. But as his man was trimming his beard and Jack sat before his looking glass, another idea occurred to him. If he was going to take Nell back in time, he would have to look the part as well.
“Shave it off, Denning,” he ordered, with just a moment of sadness that his finely kept whiskers should be so summarily removed. He was not a vane man, but he had grown accustomed to seeing himself bearded.
His valet paused, frowning. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”
“The beard,” he elaborated. “No trimming today. I would like a shave. A fresh start now that we are returned to England.”
Denning had accompanied him in all his travels. He had seen Jack at his lowest and his best, and he was a calm, judicious presence. A trusted companion.
“You are certain, my lord?” Denning asked.
“Certain.” He stared at his reflection, thinking it was time. “The whiskers can grow back, should I change my mind.”
“Of course,” Denning agreed.
But there was something in his tone which gave Jack pause.
“Do you think I shall be an unsightly beast without it?” he asked. “I am attempting to impress Lady Needham.”
Saying the words aloud made him sound rather foolish. He felt like a lad courting his future bride: uncertain, a jittery, ragged bundle of nerves. Hope was a painful splinter in his heart. What man had to impress his wife of over four years?
A man who had made enough mistakes to almost lose her forever.
