Her expression in the lamplight reminded him of the one yesterday when she was leaving. Astonished. Transformed.
“Have you never heard music like that before?” he asked when he sat beside her and the carriage began nudging away from the other conveyances.
“Not quite. Not like the last piece. The first ones—I have heard something similar in church.”
The first had been Bach. The second Beethoven. The first a fugue on harpsicord. The second a symphony that thundered through the theater. Uncle Frederick had not liked Beethoven’s music.Dionysiac, he had called it.The structure is there but buried in storms that rouse the emotions, not the mind,he had said.On the other hand, when you want to seduce a woman, it is useful to have her listen to Beethoven first.
“Did your church in Dorset have such sophisticated music?”
“No, but when in London I would attend St. George’s near Hanover Square. I never missed Sunday service. Beth and her son would come too, and we would walk both ways, even in bad weather, to make the outing last a long time.”
There would be no way Finley could object to his wife attending church. That must have annoyed him. Not enough that he accompanied her, though. Such a man knows his soul has no business in such a place. “How far was it?”
“We normally let a house west of Portman Square, so not too far. I would have to leave quite early, though, because we would walk very, very slowly.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you for tonight. It was a special treat. I feel as though the music is still inside me.”
He turned and gave her a full kiss, such as he had been wanting to do since she left her house. “I will return you to your home now if you want.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He needed no more encouragement than that. The music was still inside him too, and he released some of the passion in kissing her. Things were more equal this time. She parted her lips, inviting the deep exploration of her mouth. She nipped his lip, testing her own power a little.
It was hell releasing her when the carriage stopped. They both pretended they were normal while he settled with the coachman and they walked calmly to the door. Up the stairs they trod, when in truth he wanted to sling her over his shoulder and run.
Once the door closed on his apartment he grabbed her and swung her into his arms. There was no sight or sound of Brigsby, who must have taken shelter in his chamber. He held her head with one hand and shrugged off coats and cravat. She dropped her reticule. Amidst kisses and bites and grasping embraces they inched through the apartment with garments flying.
Only when they dropped onto the bed naked did he seek some restraint. He might not have to be heroic, but he could not ravish her either. Yet he craved to be in her, thrusting deeply, feeling her tremors and hearing her sighs and—he forced himself to find the final tether to sanity that still existed.
He took his time after that, to make sure she knew pleasure. The rhythm of her sighs and gentle moans, slow at first then rising in speed and sound, found union with the hard beat of his heart. She abandoned control fast, like a woman more than ready. He put his hand to her mound while he used his mouth on her breasts, to push her further into delirium.
He gently pushed at one thigh. “Open, darling.” He slid a finger down her cleft while he spoke. Her mouth fell open and her back arched. He almost pulled her atop him then, but instead again resisted. He touched her more purposefully. The intensity had her cry out.
She moved against his hand, seeking more. Her cries turned loud and desperate. A series of small tremors shook her and with each one she stopped breathing. He circled his touch around the edge of her passage, then brought it forward to the nub. A series of frantic cries rang through the chamber. Then she screamed, and even as she did she scrambled atop him, and took him inside herself. She came down hard, absorbing him.
She looked glorious and perfect and he wanted her only more now. He gritted his teeth and restrained himself yet again, so whatever she experienced would not be interrupted.
It seemed like forever they remained like that, with him throbbing inside her, hot and demanding, with his whole body tight as a bowstring. He was about to give up on heroics when she opened her eyes and looked down. She leaned forward, kissed him, and began moving.
She soon joined him again in frenzied passion. The coil of pleasure tightened, increasing his hunger and pushing for more. He thrust hard again and again. His release came in an explosion of pleasure that buried him.
She sank down on him, her fingers gripping his shoulders and her breathing hard and short. He wrapped his arms around her back and bottom so they stayed together a while longer in every way. She remained with him as sensations slowly gave way to thought. Even then he kept her there, because most of those thoughts wandered around her.
He finally loosened his hold. She rolled off him and onto her back beside him. He figured out how to cover them both with the tangle of bedclothes they had created. He embraced her with one arm so she came closer.
“I am speechless,” she said lowly into his ear. “I have no way to know for sure, but I think you are probably a very good lover.”
He enjoyed her flattery to a ridiculous extent.
She nestled down closer and deeper. “You spent the day on inquiries, didn’t you?”
“I did. You were correct about Dolores. There was an old resentment, over a man that my uncle warned off most effectively. He paid the fellow to disappear. She is still angry.” He was going to let it rest, but found himself adding. “And Kevin admitted to me that he indeed returned from France earlier, and met with Uncle Frederick. They had a row.”
She didn’t move or speak for a long time.
“Not on the roof,” he felt obligated to add. “And not that night, but the evening before.”
“Well, that’s different, isn’t it?”
It is if he is telling the truth. Damnation. For hours he had not been turning that over in his head. Inevitable that it would all start again, though.
