The first lick of his slick tongue between the folds of her most intimate spot made her back arch off the cot. A deep moan tore from her throat. He did it again and again as her knees fell apart and her fingers tangled in his silken hair.
She was on the verge of the experience he’d given her two nights ago, poised on the precipice of having the entire world collapse beneath her. “Beau, I can’t—”
He pulled himself up to match her body with his and kissed her deeply. She tasted herself in his mouth, just before he pushed her knees apart even further with his own heavy knee. She felt him probing between her legs, just before he slid into her in one solid, slick movement that made her cry out.
He stopped. “Did I hurt you, Love?” he asked, still inside her to the hilt.
“No.” She shook her head forcefully, her eyes closed, feeling the exquisiteness of him filling her so completely.
He braced his arms on either side of her head and began to move. The experience was wholly unlike her prior experiences with William. Whereas William had plowed at her quickly like a jackrabbit, Beau moved in long, languid strokes, pulling out and sliding back in while her body writhed beneath him wanting more and more.
When he moved one hand to the nub of pleasure between her legs and began rubbing her in tight little circles, she cried out again, exquisite pleasure pulsing through her whole body.
He kept up his strokes, groaning as he pumped into her slowly and his finger never left her most intimate spot, making her hips move in rhythm with it. She stayed with him until dark spots replaced his handsome face above her and shards of pure pleasure radiated from her core, out of her hips, and along her entire body.
She cried out and Beau’s mouth was there to capture the sound. He pulled his hand away while her body was racked with shudders. He stroked into her again and again and again before he pulled himself from inside her and spilled his seed on her belly, his own body racked with shudders this time.
His breathing was hot and uneven in her ear for a few moments before he fell to his side and pulled her against him, kissing her disheveled hair. “God, Marianne,” he breathed. “That was…amazing.”
Amazing was an understatement, she thought as she struggled to right her own breathing. She placed her hand on his chest and felt his pounding heart. “I agree,” was all she could manage, little zings of pleasure still zipping through her body. Nothing she’d done with William compared to the ecstasy she’d just experienced with Beau.
She turned to her side, her back to him, and he pulled her against his chest. His arms were around her, his big strong muscles enveloping her. She expelled a breath. The few times she’d laid with William, he had quickly dressed and left. This was different. Why was Nicholas—no,Beau—interested in staying, in holding her close? It felt…strange. But she also had to admit, it felt good. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to pretend for one moment that they were in love, that they were betrothed. That he wasn’t who he was, and she wasn’t who she was.
She allowed him to hold her…until the sweat on her body cooled, until she heard the crickets chirping in the meadow. She allowed him to run his fingers through her hair and kiss her ear.
They stayed that way for what felt like hours but was probably only half of one.
“Marianne?” Beau’s whisper finally filtered through the darkness.
“Yes?” she replied, hoping he wasn’t about to say something to ruin the bubble of intimacy that surrounded them.
“Will you tell me about your brother’s murder?”
She closed her eyes and exhaled her pent-up breath. Too late. The magic was gone. “No, Beau. I can’t.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Beau could have kicked himself for bringing up Marianne’s brother in the afterglow of their lovemaking. He’d assumed, obviously incorrectly, that she might have been more willing to share some information after they’d been so close. Instead, all it had served to do was to close her up tighter than a wine drum.
She’d quickly slipped from his arms and the cot and pulled on both her night rail and her dressing gown. Beau had sighed and taken the hint. He dressed and left her bedchamber soon after, doing nothing more than giving her an awkward kiss on the top of the head before taking his leave.
It was probably a good thing he’d left when he had, however, because Kendall, of all bloody people, had come knocking on Beau’s door not an hour after he’d made it back to his own cot.
Beau had had to give the chap a talk that mainly involved advice regarding Kendall telling Frances Wharton, the woman he’d inadvertently fallen in love with at the house party, the truth abouthisidentity as an earl, and to face the consequences of his lies. It had been a sensitive subject, as Kendall blamed Beau for his lying in the first place. After all, the entire pretend-to-be-servants plothadbeen his idea to begin with.
After Kendall had gone on his way and Beau suffered a nearly sleepless night, he had spent most of the day seeing to Lord Copperpot’s needs. In the afternoon, he’d ended up hosting an impromptu meeting of his friends in his bedchamber, where Kendall got drunk as a wheelbarrow and had even become a bit belligerent.
Turns out Miss Wharton hadn’t taken too kindly the news that Kendall was an earl—specifically, the earl whom she most disliked by reputation. To make matters worse, tonight at dinner, Miss Wharton’s parents intended to announce her engagement to Sir Reginald Francis. Beau had spent no inconsiderable amount of time last night and earlier this evening trying to convince Kendall not to give up.
Beau had remained the picture of his normal calm, collected self in front of his friends all afternoon, but he had spent every spare moment contemplating what had happened between himself and Marianne in her room last night.
He’d made love to her. Well,lovewas probably a strong word. But he’d never been one to casually sleep with any willing female, and that’s certainly not what this was; he wasn’t Worthington, for Christ’s sake. The duke was was known for hismésalliances, but Beau prided himself on both his discernment and his self-control.
Going for long times without bedding a woman wasn’t something that bothered him overly much. Spending the night with a woman—and normally he spent theentirenight—usually led to feelings, and feelings usually led to complications, and if there was one thing Beau steadfastly steered clear of, it was complications. Of any sort. For any reason. They were messy, unruly things and he prided himself on a tidy, disciplined life.
Last night, however, he hadn’t even thought about the feelings or the complications. Normally he was tightly in control of his baser desires, and thought through the ramifications of any choices he made when it came to carnal pleasures.
But the moment Marianne had invited him to touch her—when she’d said, “now I know your name”—every responsible thought had scattered from his brain, and all he knew was that he had to have her. Immediately.
