Without hesitation, without thought, he dove into her mouth, and found her waiting there, too. Waiting to engage, to meet and satisfy his every demand-to challenge him, did she but know it, with the ease with which she so effortlessly sated him.
Even after having her for more times than he’d ever had any woman, he still couldn’t get enough of her-any more than he could solve the riddle of how having her had become such a bliss-filled act.
Why it so soothed his soul, both that of the man and that of the beast, the primitive being that lurked deep within him.
She embraced him all, and gave him surcease; in her arms he found an earthly heaven.
In search of it again, he drew his hand from her breast, reached down, caught her knee, and lifted it. Angling his hips, he nudged into her, then thrust deep. Seated fully within her, he rolled and settled fully upon her; wrapped in her arms and the billows of his bed, he savored her mouth as he savored her body, rocking them both with slow, deep thrusts, taking them both on a slow ride to paradise.
At the last, she clutched, arched beneath him as his name ripped from her throat; he buried his head in the sweet curve of her shoulder and gave himself to her in a long, intense climax that rolled on and on.
Afterward, once he’d regained possession of sufficient wit to move, he lifted from her, settled beside her, and gathered her close, and she came, snuggling against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, spread over his heart.
He didn’t know if she knew she did that every night, that she slept with her hand just there. With her warmth against him and all tension released, he sank deeper into the mattress, and let the quiet joy he always found with her seep slowly to his bones. To his soul.
And wondered, again, why. Why what he found with her was so different. And why he felt as he now did about her.
She was the woman he wanted as his wife-so he’d let her close, closer than he’d ever let anyone else, and therefore she meant more than anyone else to him. He shouldn’t be surprised that she awakened, called to, drew forth emotions no other ever had.
He’d never felt as possessive of any woman as he felt about her. Never felt as consumed by, as focused on, as connected to anyone as he did to her. She was rapidly becoming-had already become-someone he needed and wanted in his life forever…
What he felt for her, how he felt about her, mirrored how his friends felt about their wives.
Given he was a Varisey through and through-knew that to his bones-he didn’t understand how that could be, yet it was. In his Varisey heart, he didn’t approve of it-his feelings for her-any more than he approved of any other vulnerability; a vulnerability was a weakness, a chink in his armor-a sin for such as he. But…deep within was a yearning he’d only recently recognized.
His father’s death had been the catalyst, the message he’d left with Minerva an unintended revelation. If he didn’t need to be like his father in running the dukedom, perhaps he didn’t need to be like him in other ways. Then his friends had arrived to comfort him, and had reminded him of what they’d found, what they had. And he’d seen his sisters and their Varisey marriages-and that hadn’t been what he’d wanted, not anymore.
He now wanted a marriage like his friends had. Like his ex-colleagues of the Bastion Club had forged. That want, that need, had burgeoned and grown over the past nights, even more over the past days, until it was an ache-like a stomach-ache-lodged in his chest.
And in the dark of his bed in the depths of the night, he could admit that that want scared him.
He didn’t know if he could achieve it-that if he reached for what he wanted, he could in fact secure it.
There were few arenas in life in which he doubted himself, but this newfound battleground was one.
Yet the one thing he now yearned for above all else was for the woman in his arms to love him. He wanted what his friends had found-lusted after her gentle affection if anything more intensely than he lusted after her body.
But if he asked for her love, and she gave it, she would ask for, and expect, his love in return. That’s how love worked; that much he knew.
But he didn’t know if he could love.
He could see that far, but no further.
If somewhere deep in his Varisey soul, so deep no other Varisey had ever found it, love lurked, a nascent possibility…
His problem was he didn’t believe that was so.
“Ma’am?”
Minerva looked up from her desk in the duchess’s morning room. “Yes, Retford?” The butler had entered and stood just inside the door.
“The Countess Ashton has arrived, ma’am-one of Lady Susannah’s guests. Unfortunately, Lady Susannah is out riding.”
Minerva inwardly grimaced. “I’ll come down.” Laying aside her pen, she rose. Royce had ridden over the border to visit Hamish, presumably to discuss sheep and the required breeders; she’d hoped to use the time to catch up with her correspondence, which she’d neglected of late.
But duty called.
She consulted the list lying on one side of her desk, then turned to the door. “We’ve put the countess in the west wing-I’m sure Cranny will have the room ready. Please ask her to send up a maid, or has the countess brought one?”
“No, ma’am.” Retford retreated into the corridor. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Cranshaw.”
Retford followed at Minerva’s heels as she went down the corridor and descended the main stairs. In the huge hall below, a lady, curvaceous and dark-haired, turned from examining her reflection in one of the large mirrors.
An extremely modish hat sat atop Lady Ashton’s sleek head. Her carriage gown was the latest in fashionable luxury, beautifully cut from ivory silk twill with magenta silk trimming; the skirts swished as, an easy smile curving delicately tinted lips, her ladyship came forward to meet Minerva.
Stepping down from the last step, Minerva smiled. “Lady Ashton? I’m Miss Chesterton-I act as chatelaine here. Welcome to Wolverstone Castle.”
“Thank you.” Of similar height to Minerva, Lady Ashton possessed classical features, a porcelain complexion, and a pleasant, confident demeanor. “I gather Susannah is out gadding about, leaving me to impose on you.”
Minerva’s smile deepened. “It’s no imposition, I assure you. It’s been some years since the castle hosted a house party-the household is quite looking forward to the challenge.”
The countess tilted her head. “House party?”
Minerva hesitated. “Yes-didn’t Susannah mention it?”
A faint smile on her lips, the countess glanced down. “No, but there was no reason she should. She invited me to another end.”
“Oh.” Minerva wasn’t sure what was going on. “I’m sure Susannah will tell you about the party when she returns. Meanwhile, if you’ll come this way, I’ll show you to your room.”
The countess consented to climb the stairs beside her. Halfway up, she grew aware of Lady Ashton’s sideways glance, and turned her head to meet it.
Her ladyship pulled a wry face. “I didn’t like to ask the butler, but is Royce-I suppose I should call him Wolverstone, shouldn’t I? Is he about?”
“I believe he’s out riding at present.”
“Ah.” The countess looked ahead, then shrugged. “He’ll have to cope with us meeting again with others about, then-or if you see him, you might mention I’m here. Susannah sent for me well over a week ago, but I wasn’t in London, so it’s taken a while for me to arrive.”
Minerva wasn’t sure what to make of that. She fastened on the most pertinent fact. “You know Royce.”
The countess smiled, her face transforming into that of a stunning seductress. “Yes, indeed.” Her voice lowered to a purr. “Royce and I know each other very well.” She glanced at Minerva. “I’m sure that’s no real surprise to you, my dear-you must know what he’s like. And while it was Susannah who penned the invitation to me, she made it clear it was for Royce that she summoned me.”