Regency Society. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘It is not that you do not tempt me.’
‘Then give me what I want,’ she demanded and lifted her own skirt to bare herself, pressing her naked sex against the front of his trousers, so close to him that she wanted to weep with frustration.
Without thinking, he swore and his mouth covered hers again, and his hand fumbled to open his trousers, pushing the cloth away until they were skin to skin. He parted from her, just enough to mutter, ‘Lean back, just a bit.’ And now he was resting between her legs, rubbing himself gently against her and peppering her lips with desperate little kisses. ‘Just for a moment. Just a taste of you. I will be careful. I promise.’
She smiled, trembling, waiting for the delicious shock of sensation that would soon come. ‘You do not have to be careful with me. Never with me. I am yours, Adrian. I love you.’
And then it was over. He jerked away from her so fast that it was as though she had burned him, hurrying to do up his buttons although he was still obviously in need of her. ‘I think, my dear, that we had best take supper. Suddenly, I find myself in need of a cooling drink.’
Emily held out a hand to him, remembering too late that he could not see it. But neither could he see her crimson cheeks, or the beginnings of tears. Then she smoothed her skirt back into place and wrapped her arms around herself as a shield against his rejection. ‘Do you really? Do you think I will forget my feelings for you? Or do you wish to distract yourself?’
‘Both, perhaps.’ He looked older than he had a few minutes ago. His face was serious and lined with stress, and his posture stiff and unnatural, as though he was guarding himself from her as well. ‘I do not think you understand what you are saying to me, and I do not mean to take advantage of a generosity that is based on lies and suppositions, no matter how pleasant they might be. You do not love me. You cannot.’
‘I do,’ she cried. ‘Do not think to tell me the contents of my heart, just because you wish it to be other than it is.’
‘We have known each other for only a few days. And what there has been between us is not love. It is something else entirely.’
‘Perhaps that is how it is for you,’ she said, ‘but I have known you for ever. And for as long as that, I have loved you.’
He had nothing to say to that, and stood a little bit apart from her with a strange, lost look on his face, as though he feared that any direction he might move would be misinterpreted by her, as his other actions had been.
She wanted to gather him close, to kiss his sightless eyes, and to tell him he had no reason to deny her or her love. There was nothing more natural in the world than for him to give in to the temptation and join with her. Her heart ached for it—just as her body ached for the child that he refused to give her.
She took deep, slow breaths, willing the passion in her to subside, leaving cold emptiness in its wake. For a few moments, it had been as if the barriers he kept between them had fallen. He had returned to her, was with her, body and soul. And for that time, no matter what he might claim now, he had been ready not just to make love, but to love her without fear of the future.
But now he was gone again. Hiding from his wife. Hiding from his lover. And even though they shared the same room, she felt lonelier than she had a week ago, when he had seemed as distant from her as a ship on the horizon.
Though it did not matter how she looked, she put on a false smile and said, ‘You are right. There is a supper laid for us in the dining room. Let me take your arm, that you might lead me to it.’ She put her hand in the crook of his elbow and gave him the direction he needed so that he might walk her to the table. They seated themselves and ate in near silence, with only the occasional nervous comment from him about the tenderness of the vegetables, and his gratitude to the cook for doing such a thorough job of boning the salmon.
When it looked as though he was ready to give a lengthy oration on the dessert, Emily cut him off. ‘I am sorry if I upset you.’
‘You did nothing of the kind,’ he assured her, a little too quickly.
‘Of course I did. And I would understand if you did not want to stay with me tonight.’
‘Of course I wish to stay,’ he said, reaching across the table to grasp her hand, ‘but I do not know if it is wise.’ And then he squeezed her fingers. ‘But I do not know if I want to be wise, if it means losing my time with you.’
‘That is a comfort. I promise not to say it again.
You needn’t worry.’ It. As though she felt some objectionable thing that needed to be hidden.
‘Actually, I would prefer that you are honest with me. It is most refreshing to find a woman who speaks frankly.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, hating herself for the lies, wanting to scream the truth in his face. I am your wife. Your Emily.
Love me.
‘It is just that I do not want you to raise your hopes about what can be between us in the end. It is not that I do not … have feelings for you. Strong feelings,’ he amended. There was a wistful quality in his voice, as though he were staring through a shop window at something he could not have. ‘You are a friend and confidante. Someone I trust implicitly and who trusts me in return. If that is the true definition of a lover, then that is what you are to me. And that is what I wish to be for you.’
Emily stared down into her plate, thinking of how it had been in Derbyshire. Then, such pretty words would have sent her heart racing. He felt strongly for her. He wanted her. She was something like a lover to him. Why could she not be satisfied? Why was that not enough?
Without releasing her hand, he stood, drawing her up with him. From memory, he led the way from the table to the bedroom. He took the time to arrange his clothes as he removed them, but took no such care with hers, opening the buttons at the back of her gown and letting it fall to the floor at her feet. He lifted her out of it and set her upon the bed with a kiss on the lips before sliding his body down hers, taking her breasts with long slow licks, smoothing his hands over her ribs and settling himself between her legs to kiss there, tenderly, worshipfully.
She closed her eyes and gave herself over to his ministrations, the tug of teeth, the gentle probing of fingers, the tentative invasions of his tongue. And she told herself that it was greedy of her to want more when he was giving her something that felt so good. And she knew, from the previous times he’d done it, that what he was doing had the strength to rend her soul from her body and send it crashing back to earth again.
The final pleasure was slow in coming. And when it came, she wept.
The sun was well up by the time Adrian awakened. He did nothing to acknowledge it for his lover was still sleeping on his arm. The night had been as glorious as the night before, and parts of the night before that. As exciting as the fight in the tavern. And probably almost as dangerous.
I love you.
When she had said it, along with the abject terror it had raised in him had been the ghostly echo of a response in his own heart—how could something as perfect as the time they spent together not have some deeper feeling in it? He smoothed a hand over her curls and she nuzzled him in her sleep.
If she had said nothing, he’d have ignored his intentions and taken her up against the wall in the salon, trusting that she would tell him if they were not alone—he could not have heard a servant’s footstep had he tried, his heart had been beating so loudly. Apparently, there was madness in what he felt for her as well.
And then she had said the words, and he’d stopped himself, too near the brink. He’d taken her to dinner, then he’d taken her to bed. And he’d loved her in all the ways he could until he was sure that she had forgotten.
But her pillow was wet with tears.