“Lose control,” she dared him, his bold, beautiful duchess, much as he had dared her the night before. “I like it when you are passionate and wild instead of forbidding and cool. I want your fire.”
If she wanted his fire, she would have it.
Roland scarcely needed further nudging. He was blazing for her. Gently, he urged her to her back on the bed. Taking care to keep from crushing her with his massive weight, he set about kissing every bare expanse of skin he could find. The silken flesh of her throat, the curve of her shoulder. The softness of her breasts. Her legs opened, and he settled between them as if it was where he belonged. He sucked a nipple as his fingers dipped between their bodies, teasing her slick folds.
Their prolonged lovemaking had readied her as much as it had him. Resting his weight on one arm, he grasped his aching cock and slid it over her, coating himself in her dew. He released her nipple and took her mouth once more as he rubbed his leaking cockhead over her swollen pearl. She bucked beneath him, undulating, spurring him on.
Roland deepened the kiss, their tongues tangling, and then he slid his cock into her hot, tight depths. One thrust, and he was fully seated. The welcoming wetness and warmth had him groaning into their kiss. He held still, savoring the moment as long as he could before his body demanded he move.
So good.
So perfect.
He could be inside her a million times, and it would never be enough.
Together, they achieved a rhythm. Lips sealed, bodies entwined. In and out, harder, deeper.
Yes.Hell yes.
He found her pearl again and swirled over it in demanding circles with his thumb, wanting to wring another orgasm from her. As many as he could. She moaned, then bit his lip. She was greedy, his Sunshine. And responsive. So beautifully, wonderfully responsive.
And his.
She clenched on his cock in the same moment he had the possessive thought. He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her throat, breathing in the sweet, heavenly scent of her as his body rocked into hers and they became one. She cried out her release, arching her back and coming undone so beautifully once more.
That was all Roland needed. One more thrust and he came, spilling his seed into her as their hearts pounded in unison.
He never wanted to move. For the first time, he understood the true meaning of home. Not a place. Not a building. But the woman who was the other half of him. The woman who made him whole.
Yes, that was what Pippa was, what Pippa had always been to him, what she would forever be.
His true home.
Chapter 18
It was not an ideal day for a picnic.
But the afternoon was pleasantly warm for a June day in Yorkshire. The sun was playing a game of dancing behind the clouds, and the rain which had seemed imminent that morning was holding off. Pippa watched from the comfort of her position on the blanket Roland had spread for their picnic luncheon as he and Char-char attempted to catch birds. Puppy was dining on some delicacies from Mrs. Dryden and having a nap, on account of his propensity for chasing birds.
After indulging in all the confections her husband had requested packed in the picnic hamper—including some truly decadent strawberry tarts—Pippa’s belly was as full as her heart. Her daughter was ecstatic to be free of Croydon’s iron rule and to be chasing birds with Roland. Her ecstatic giggles rang across the rolling valley and grassy knoll upon which they were seated.
Their view was of the stately rear of the Wylde Park main house and its elaborate gardens. But here, in the tree-edged fields, everything was so peaceful. The servants had brought the picnic hamper and accoutrements on a cart and then left to give Pippa, Roland, and Char-char their privacy.
At the moment, Roland and Charlotte were doing their utmost to be very quiet and still in the hopes that another bird would return so they might attempt to catch it. Her husband’s smile was big and beautiful as he glanced down at her daughter and gave an affectionate ruffle to her chestnut curls. Char-char’s hat had long since been removed.
Croydon would not have approved.
Pippa did not give a damn. Later this afternoon, she had a meeting scheduled with the nursemaid, and she intended to inform the older woman of her need to find a new placement. She would send along a carefully phrased reference for Croydon. Surely a family in search of a more rigid nursemaid might find the appeal. For her part, Pippa had already sent word and begun advertising for a replacement.
When further birds refused to arrive after sufficient time had lapsed—no doubt due to the exuberance of both Roland and Char-char—he lifted Charlotte and spun her in a circle until both of them were giggling.
Pippa pressed a hand over her heart and bit her lip to quell the tears which longed to fall. This was what she had imagined her life would be like with George. And yet, when she looked back on the marriage she had shared with him, she could see quite clearly that from the time she had lost Septimus until George’s own death, he had been more interested in the notion of a wife and child than in the actual wife and child themselves.
And when Charlotte had been born, his disappointment that she was a girl instead of another son had been deeply hurtful. Pippa had cast her emotions aside, telling herself perhaps it was grief for Septimus that had caused her husband’s reaction to the knowledge they had a healthy daughter. In hindsight, she felt quite certain it had not been. George had placed greater importance upon a son, likely as a sign of the wealth and importance he sought so hard to achieve.
The wealth he had done anything for. Her brother’s letter had arrived, forwarded from London, and in it, he had confirmed her suspicion. Worthington had indeed been deeply in debt after gambling losses. But the debts had not been owed to Roland. Rather, they had been owed to George. It had been George who had pressed her brother to lie about Roland in return for forgiveness of the notes. Five years ago, her brother’s wife had been expecting their second child and he had put his own family first. He had not revealed the truth to her after George’s death out of shame for his past actions. Worthington had closed the letter begging for her understanding and forgiveness.
Pippa had not responded, and she was not certain if she would. Her brother’s actions had changed the course of her life. He had lied to her and used her as if she were no better than a pawn, just as George had. The wounds were deep. But the truth was finally hers at last.
