‘A burden you may be, but what makes you think you are unwanted?’
‘I am not the bride you would have dreamed of marrying, with no fortune or connections.’
He took hold of her face and said passionately, ‘You are so used to the disdain of lesser men and women that you do not see your own worth, Grace. On the contrary, you are just the type of bride to suit me. Do you not see that you are proud, stubborn and infuriating? But you are also clever, brave, and heartbreakingly pretty, and I want you with a vengeance.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and the woods and the sky held their breath as he sank his lips towards hers.
‘But how can I trust in anything you say?’ she whispered.
‘Trust this,’ he said, and his mouth claimed hers. Rawden’s kiss was sublime, so full of longing and warmth, that Grace melted her mouth against his and all her worries disappeared. He took hold of her waist and pushed her back against a tree, and she was boneless, everything inside her turning to mush under his mouth and hands, the feel of his hard thigh pressed to hers. Emboldened by his regard, Grace let her hands roam up into his thick hair and returned his ardour with her own as if it was not her kissing Rawden but a wicked, hungry stranger.
It continued until Grace had a fire in her belly, melting her loins. His hardness pressed against her belly, and a surge of triumph took hold. Rawden found her desirable. Perhaps she could compete with Romola Bianchi. Dare she even try? His hands roamed all over her, and he pulled her close, his kiss deepening, making her moan. Grace flinched but did not stop him as he lifted her skirt, and his cold fingers slid up her thigh to her centre. Rawden’s cool, practised fingers were a relief of sorts as they melted the fire at her core to a puddle of lust. Her whole being seemed swollen with desire, aching for him as he gently brushed the back of his hand along her downy cleft.
‘Rawden, please,’ she gasped.
‘Please, what?’ he breathed against her mouth
‘Don’t stop.’
‘Not a chance.’
His cool fingers slid inwards, and after that, Grace let herself be taken by his touch. Within moments, she was gasping her pleasure to the sky, a joy so intense it almost brought her to tears. She would have crumpled to a heap were it not for the tree against her back and Rawden’s strong arms holding her up. Her gasping breaths took flight and mingled with the rush of wind in the trees.
‘I would take you now if you would welcome it,’ he gasped, kissing her neck.
‘Here in the open,’ she cried.
‘Yes. And why not? I own everything you see, including you, and no one is around to spy on us.’
Rawden would take his pleasure now, as he had on their wedding night, and she would let him. ‘Yes, yes, Rawden,’ she cried, turning her face up to the sky.
There was such freedom in his touch, in this soaring feeling of ecstasy and release, and why stop him when she felt truly, deeply alive for the first time in her life? Grace clung to Rawden’s broad shoulders as he opened his breeches and took himself in hand. He parted her legs with the gentlest of nudges, and instead of a tense bracing, she felt only a rampant desire to have all of him inside her. Grace cried out as he lifted her leg and pressed against the entrance to her body.
Suddenly, fat drops of rain spattered on her cheeks. The heavens opened, and fierce rain hissed down, soaking the trees and the path. It ran down Rawden’s face and into her mouth as he kissed her fiercely. The wind picked up, and the trees started lashing around them.
‘Damn,’ he exclaimed, with a look of intense frustration. ‘We must return to the house, hurry.’
Grace could have cried in disappointment. ‘But, Rawden, why?’
‘I cannot take you out here. These woods are treacherous in a storm. We must go,’ he said, stuffing his swollen manhood back in his breeches and then taking her hand.
They ran through the woods like playful children, his firm grip holding Grace up when she slipped on the path, which had quickly turned to mud. Thunder boomed overhead, and Grace squealed and laughed along with Rawden. When they crashed breathlessly into the hall, there was no respite as Rawden dragged her quickly up the stairs and into his bedchamber.
Grace got a quick glance at oak furniture and midnight-blue drapes, everything manly and sparse, before Rawden flung her onto the bed and pressed down on her. From then on, there was nothing but his eyes burning with lust, his wet hands tugging down her bodice, his hot mouth all over her breasts, his knee pushing her legs apart – a glorious, welcome onslaught as he held himself just outside her body.
‘Tell me you want this, or I shall go mad,’ he growled.
In answer, Grace sunk her hands into his storm-blown hair and pulled his mouth back to hers. And then he was inside her, quickly, before she could cry out, and all she could do was wrap herself around him and hold him close as he worshipped her flesh with his.
The storm boomed on, rattling window panes, piercing the room with sudden flashes of lightning, throwing in stark relief Rawden’s dark, ferocious beauty, the potent hunger on his face, as if the Devil himself was making love to her. Thunder soon drowned out Grace’s little cries of pleasure.
Afterwards, Rawden pulled the coverlet about them and held her in his arms. Neither dared say a word as if that would break the spell and send them back to circling each other like wary dogs. Grace gave in to the exhaustion of the last few days and drifted off to sleep, cocooned in his warm embrace, lulled by his deep breathing.
She woke to Rawden’s hand in her hair, his mouth on hers – tender and slow. He took her again during that long, dark afternoon, in a leisurely way, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for them to come together. Rawden spread her out beneath him and teased her to a peak, making her gasp, beg, and cry out his name. Only then did he take his own pleasure, his bulk pressing on her and squeezing her tightly as if he would consume her. It was a breathless, delicious suffocation.
Chapter Thirty-One
