He increased his tempo, driving into her hard, making the bed shake.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
She obeyed. Her breath grew short at the ferocity of his expression. The determined glint in his eye. John might call himself selfish in his desires, but he was making absolutely certain they both went up in flames.
He devoured her with his gaze. He drank in every gasp as he pounded into her, every arch of her neck as he took her higher. Closer. His eyes dropped to her breasts, bouncing from the force of his assault.
He closed his eyes and groaned. “Tell me you’re close, sweetheart. I need you to be close.”
“So…close…” She dug her nails into his hands, spiraling tighter, tighter, until she could hold it in no more.
She burst into a million tiny shards of pleasure. White spots danced in her vision. Ripples of ecstasy splintered out from her core, shooting to every nerve ending her body contained. She clutched at him, holding his rigid length snug, and let her mind go blank, luxuriating in the bliss.
“Netta…” John threw his head back and cursed. He jerked within her, his body shuddering until finally he collapsed.
He lay limp and heavy on her, his heat and weight a welcome comfort. Netta rubbed small circles into his back, letting her mind wander to pleasant fancies that could never be.
Unless…
John didn’t behave as she expected. After all, when did he ever do what was customary for an earl? He might help her smuggle her sister from her home. Her belly fluttered. And Netta had lived concealed within London for years; why couldn’t her sister?
John heaved a sigh, his breath tickling her ear. He rolled to his side, taking her with him so they lay facing each other.
“Feeling better?”
She traced a circle on his chest. “Oh, was that all for my benefit? I thank you, yes.”
He grinned. “I might have received some reward from it, too.” He picked up her hand and kissed the bent bone at her wrist. “How did this happen?”
“Sudden contact with the floor.” Her voice wobbled. “Some men don’t like to hear the word ‘no’.”
John stilled. “Who was it?”
She opened her mouth to tell him everything, but the words clogged in her throat. There were too many what-ifs. What if he contacted her father? What if he went after Sudworth and was hurt himself?
What if he gave her the four thousand pounds and she never saw him again?
The fluttering in her stomach hardened to cramps.
What if his concern disappeared once he learned she could no longer help him recover his deed?
Before she could fully trust him, she needed to know that he also trusted her judgment. Understood that she knew what was best for her and Eleanor.
“The name is of no importance.” She snuggled closer. “Aside from my wrist, I wasn’t hurt that night. I got away.” Sudworth had let her get away. He had been happy to wait until the marriage bed to force himself on her. She’d seen the thrill of that power, of owning a woman, excite his every feature.
His poor wife. The last four years of her life must have been horrible living under that man’s thumb.
And now he wanted that power over Eleanor.
A small tremor shook her body. She’d kill him before she let him touch her sister.
“A broken wrist is enough for the man to taste my blade,” John said, eyes narrowed.
She smiled wryly and kissed his shoulder. “Your sense of proportion is sadly lacking. A broken bone isn’t a capital offense. That is the least of what a man can do to hurt a woman.”
His eyes narrowed even further, turning into slits. “Who hurt you? I will make him pay, and enjoy doing it.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’d devise an intricate plot, making it a game.” She rolled onto her back and stared at a gold vine wrapping about the tester.
