He ground against her, and she gasped as his hips found that same place where he’d put her fingers. The center of her pleasure. It returned now, a blast of tingling sensation that caused her pelvis to meet his again.
He cursed beneath his breath and then began to move. He withdrew and thrust, setting a slow, steady rhythm. She lifted to meet it, reaching for the release she had found when she touched herself. Reaching for more, because this joining made the feelings more intense. More powerful. More desperate.
His mouth covered hers and she held tight to him as they moved together like one body, one person. Wanting the same thing, needing it more than breath. And then it was there, and she cried out against his lips as he dragged her through release a second time. His thrusts grew faster, harder, and she felt him shake as he took her, his fingers bruising her skin with the intensity of his passion, sucking her tongue before he cried out a primal sound and she felt his heat pump into her.
He collapsed down over her, gathering her closer in the dark, and for that moment, nothing else mattered.
Although Hugh had never been a libertine like Robert or even Simon before his marriage to Meg, he had certainly had his share of lovers. Sex was a natural desire—he felt no shame in it and had always tended to the needs of the women he bedded. But he’d maintained control.
Tonight was different. As he looked down at the woman in his arms, the one who had a look of sleepy contentment on her beautiful face, he felt no control whatsoever. In fact, he felt quite the opposite. Tonight he was an animal, a slave to his baser desires. He’d come less than fifteen minutes before and he was already raring to take her again. And again. And again.
She shifted and her hand lifted to his chest. She smoothed the skin there just over his heart, and there was an ache that followed the motion. One he didn’t want to name, one he didn’t want to feel. Especially not with Amelia, who loved someone else. Who hated him, even if she felt desire when he touched her.
He shifted and slid from beneath her, getting up to find his trousers on the floor. When he turned, she was watching him in confusion and perhaps a little hurt.
“Did I…do something wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not at all. I just thought you might want to sleep alone in your own bed tonight. You must be exhausted after all the excitement of the past few days.”
She worried her lip and he wanted to do the same, nip her skin with his teeth, soothe it with his tongue, explore every inch of her. He felt his cock rising and turned away.
“I suppose,” she said softly.
He swallowed and picked up his shirt. As he put it on, he said, “It might be the last night you spend alone for a few, in truth. I was thinking we might leave London tomorrow and go to my estate in the country.”
She sat up, and he couldn’t help but stare as she covered herself with the sheets. “I see. So soon?”
He pondered the question a moment. He could be cagey, but there had already been so many lies. Telling one more felt so heavy.
“I’m sure my sister will be upset by missing the wedding and want to meet you.”
Amelia seemed to ponder that, and then she nodded. “I suppose there would be no harm in getting out of London and letting the talk settle down around our marriage, as you said before.”
“Talk?”
“Of course you know there is talk,” she said. “I was far beneath you and we rushed to the altar. Half the city believes I am already with your child, the other that I’m a social climber who trapped you some other way.”
She frowned as she said those words, and he sighed. He hated how this entire fiasco had played out. Hated it with every fiber of his being. Just like when he’d made love to her, their wedding had felt out of control.
He needed to get that back, and quickly.
“Soon enough another scandal will push ours away,” he reassured her. “But for now I leave you to your sleep. Tomorrow we can leave in the morning and we’ll be to Brighthollow in just two days’ time.”
She nodded as he moved to the door of his adjoining room. There, he turned. She was staring at him, silent, beautiful. Tempting.
But he walked away regardless, because she wasn’t really his. And he certainly wasn’t hers.
Chapter Eleven
Amelia looked out the window of the carriage, watching as the hustle and noise of the city transformed into the green of the pastoral countryside. The effect might have been calming under normal circumstances, but these were anything but. Her morning had begun early and in a rush, with servants loading carriages, and Theresa both trying to ready her and oversee the packing of her gowns and other things.
It left her feeling out of sorts. As did the man she rode with in the carriage. Hugh sat across from her, reviewing some paperwork. Like he hadn’t touched her last night. Like nothing had changed, when everything had in that instant he fit his body into hers and turned her world on its head.
Even now, she wanted that again as she stared at him with that serious frown and his hair pulled back in a queue that tamed its curly wildness.
“Do you have something to say?” he asked, lifting his eyes. The tone was teasing, and she blushed at being caught staring at him.
“No,” she said. He chuckled and lowered his eyes back to his papers. She was left unsatisfied, and so she folded her arms as a shield across her chest and said, “Well, yes.”
