Читать книгу Bound By One Scandalous Night - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Edmund stepped back.

Heavens! What was he about? He’d nearly kissed her, and now she looked bewildered.

‘Forgive me,’ he said.

‘For what?’ she whispered.

‘For coming too close.’

Her brow creased in confusion. ‘I thought you were going to kiss me.’

He could not meet her eye. ‘That would be pretty shabby of me.’

She turned back towards the window. ‘I suppose it is something you would not want to do.’

Should not do, was more the piece.

‘That was one thing Fowler must have been honest about,’ she spoke more to the windowpane than to Edmund. ‘He never kissed me. Except on the cheek like my brother might do.’

Edmund had not felt like kissing her like a brother.

‘He obviously did not want to.’ She released a long sigh. ‘No man has wanted to kiss me.’

‘It is more likely that they wanted to, but refrained,’ he said.

She whirled around. ‘And you? Did you want to, but refrained?’

‘I am really not a rake, Amelie.’ Although he’d nearly behaved like one.

She turned away again. ‘I wish you were.’

He was uncertain he heard her correctly.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Are you shocked at that? I did proposition a man tonight, after all.’

He’d tried to treat her like his little half-sister Genna instead of the alluring creature she was at this moment. He’d promised her she was safe with him.

She laughed drily. ‘I would certainly hate to think that the only men who wished to kiss me were those ruffians in the street who tried to have their way with me.’

‘They would have done more than kiss you, Amelie,’ he said. ‘If you yearn for love, they were not offering it.’

She turned back to him. ‘Do you know what distresses me the most about never marrying?’

‘You must not give up on marriage.’ How could any man fail to see the merit in her?

She whirled around again, halting his speech. ‘It distresses me that I will never know a man’s kisses. I’ll never know the lovemaking that passes between men and women. Husband and wife.’

‘You will,’ he said.

The lamplight reflected in her eyes, filling them with fire. ‘Will you kiss me, Edmund?’

Every muscle and sinew in his body yearned for him to taste her lips. ‘No, Amelie. It would not be wise.’

Her eyes filled with tears, making them look even bigger. ‘I suppose it would be distasteful to kiss me, would it not?’

‘No, Amelie, it would not be distasteful.’ It was a struggle not to crush his mouth against hers.

‘Then you are repelled because I am so wanton in the asking.’ Her voice strained, as if she was trying to stifle a sob. ‘Like Fowler.’

He moved closer to her. ‘I am anything but repelled by you, but I am not the man for you. You must wait—’

‘For whom?’ she cried. ‘Why can you not be the man who first kisses me? You’ve been my friend this night.’

‘A friend, but not your equal,’ he tried to explain. ‘Remember, I am nothing but a bastard and you are the daughter of a viscount.’

‘And what does that signify? You are the son of a baronet and I am the daughter of a French commoner,’ she countered. ‘Why is any of that an impediment to a kiss?’

‘My sister is married to your brother.’ He was grasping at straws.

She gave him a speaking look. ‘You are not kissing your sister and I am not kissing my brother.’

How could he convince her? He must not cross that line with her, and he was very close to doing so. Something had changed as they’d talked. She’d somehow become important to him.

She turned back to the window. ‘Listen to me.’ Her voice filled with pain. ‘I’m standing here begging you to kiss me. How pathetic a creature I am! No wonder Fowler wanted to rid himself of me.’

Her pain pierced through him like the sabres he’d soon be facing.

He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to him. He cupped her cheeks in his palms and tilted her head to him. Leaning down so his lips merely hovered over hers, he asked again, ‘Are you very certain you want a kiss?’

‘Yes,’ she rasped.

‘It may not be wise, but I will comply.’ He closed the short distance between them.

A satisfied sound escaped her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Her lips parted and his tongue touched hers. Her lips were soft and warm, and her mouth tasted of sherry.

It was as if a spark had touched off a firestorm. Desire flashed through him, engulfed him. He pressed his body against hers.

Her fingers dug into his hair and she ground herself against him. He was powerfully aroused. Imagine her believing herself unlovable. She was everything a man could desire. She’d affected him as no other woman.

But she was not for him.

She deserved what she’d thought she had in Fowler. A respectable aristocrat who loved her, not a bastard taking advantage of her vulnerability.

The rumblings of heavy wagons and the clap of horses’ hooves reached her window. A reminder. Where he must go. Who he was—a lowly lieutenant from an infantry regiment, without name or fortune. This would change some day, he vowed. He’d earn his fortune, some day, somehow, but he was still a bastard and not for her.

He released her and eased her away.

‘What?’ She looked dazed.

He tried to smile. ‘There now. You have been kissed, but if we do not stop, we may commit a more serious indiscretion.’ Being alone with her in her hotel room, kissing her, was indiscreet enough. ‘Besides, Napoleon beckons. I need to go.’

She nodded. ‘You must go fight a battle. I do understand.’ She backed away from him. ‘Thank you for saving me. Thank you for—for the kiss.’

His grin came naturally. ‘It was my pleasure.’

She smiled in return and their gazes held.

‘Best I take my leave.’ He crossed the room and retrieved his coat. She followed him and helped him put it on.

Standing behind him, she put her arms around him and rested her cheek against his back. ‘I do not want you to leave me.’

He did not want to leave her either, but his resolve was weakening by each moment he stayed.

He turned around, still in her embrace. ‘Will you be all right?’

She looked up at him, her jaw firmly set. ‘I shall have to be.’

The lamplight made her skin glow, and the tumble of curls around her face shone like a halo. He tried to commit her face to memory, a memory to soothe him on the battlefield, a reminder of who and what he fought for. If he survived—if he survived—who knew if he would ever see her again? Could he bear that?

She rose on tiptoe and placed her lips on his, unschooled and tentative.

Desire slammed into him again. He put his fingers into her hair and held her in the kiss, savouring it like a man feasting on his last meal. Her soft curves pressed against him once more. Good God. He was on fire, wanting all of her, craving to ease the need that threatened to consume him. He picked her up, and she curled her legs and arms around him. Without heed of what he was doing, he carried her to the bed, prominent in the room, even though he’d not allowed his gaze to stray in its direction.

‘Yes,’ she murmured against his lips. ‘Yes.’

* * *

Amelie knew what Edmund wanted. She was not so green a girl not to know what could transpire between a man and a woman, why young ladies like herself were carefully chaperoned. What difference did it make now, if she were chaperoned or not? She was not destined for marriage or respectability. Fowler had taught her that.

But ever since she’d met Fowler and fancied herself in love with him, she’d felt that urge to couple with him. She’d savoured every touch of his hand. She’d felt frustration when his lips touched her cheek and not her mouth. She’d realised that she was a woman who wanted the bedding part of marriage. She’d thought she wanted it so much with Fowler that she dared to ask him to make love to her before he went to battle, lest he be killed and she never know his embrace.

Of course, that all died in an instant when he rebuffed her.

The thing was, the urge for lovemaking was even stronger with Edmund. Why not indulge it? She was unlikely to have another chance.

He sat her on the bed and captured her mouth again. She savoured the delight of it. To touch her tongue to his was so incredibly intimate, and it sent sensation shooting through her. It was as if her body had come alive for the first time.

His hand slipped to the sensitive skin of her neck and moved down to cup her breast.

Oh, my! How could a touch in one part of one’s body be felt so acutely in another? His hand on her breast ignited sensation in her most womanly place. It made her want more, much more. It made her want him to touch her skin all over and even to touch that—that most private of places.

She must be wanton. There was no other explanation. What was she to do with these feelings for the rest of her life? The least she could do was indulge them this one time. There could be no unwanted consequences the first time, she’d heard the maids say. When else could she do this without anyone knowing?

Edmund would not tell. And, even if he did, who would believe him? No one knew they were together. No one would ever know.

But Edmund suddenly broke off the kiss. ‘Amelie, we cannot do this. I won’t do this.’

She was bereft. And a little wild. To have those sensations aroused and so abruptly denied was like dousing a raging fire with a bucket of water.

Except this did nothing to extinguish the flames inside her.

She pushed him away and leapt from the bed. ‘Then stop! And be gone! And do not tease me so. Do not pretend you want me and then just stop! You are worse than Fowler! At least he told me right away he did not want me!’ Her emotions were running away with her mouth, and she could not stop herself. ‘Does no man want me? Not even when I offer myself? What is wrong with me? Am I really as detestable as Fowler said? Not even as desirable as Haymarket ware—’

He seized her by the shoulders. ‘I did not say I did not want you!’

She pressed herself against him again, putting her arms around him. ‘Then make love to me, Edmund. This may be my only chance. I want to know love at least once. Show me, please. Please!’

* * *

How was he to resist her?

He kissed her again, a long and tender kiss that showed all the yearning he could no longer disguise. He wanted her with every fibre of his being. He wanted this one last moment of beauty and joy before facing cannon fire, blood and death.

When his lips left hers and tasted of her neck and shoulders, she sighed. ‘Yes. That is glorious. Yes.’

His hand slipped beneath the neckline of her poor battered dress, now ripped and dirty from the violence of the street. He savoured her smooth skin and the feel of her nipple as his palm scraped against it.

She writhed with his touch and twisted around, presenting her back to him. ‘Unbutton my dress. Please, Edmund.’

Somehow his fingers undid at least a dozen tiny buttons. As soon as they were free, she pulled her dress over her head. He took off his boots and coat.

She presented her back to him again. ‘My stays.’

He untied the laces of her corset, loosened them and pulled her corset down so she could step out of it. He stripped off his trousers and drawers and added them to the puddle of clothing on the floor. He lifted her onto the bed and, as he climbed after her, she pulled off her shift.

She was naked and as beautiful as any goddess could possibly be. Her breasts were full, high and firm; their nipples dark rose. Her waist was narrow, but her hips a pleasing balance. Was she perfection? What had he done to deserve such a gift? Perhaps it meant he would meet his end. If so, he was thankful for her.

‘Do—do I please you?’ she asked, her voice small.

He allowed his gaze to luxuriate over her. ‘Very much.’

She smiled and gazed upon him. His chest bore more than a few scars, gifts from the Battle of Albuhera, but she did not seem to notice. Her eyes widened as she gazed farther down, but, then, she would not have seen a man fully aroused before.

Edmund could have taken her quickly and roughly and eased the almost painful desire coursing through him, but his mind still functioned well enough to remember she was a virgin. He had no wish to hurt her. He wanted to show her pleasure. He wanted to show her all the delights of lovemaking, to show her she was meant to have pleasure from it. Most of all he wanted to reassure her that she was worthy of love.

He settled beside her and kissed her again, on the lips, on the tender skin beneath her ear, on the long column of her throat. He caressed her breast and relished the feel of it beneath his fingers. He scraped her nipple with his palm, and she moaned in response. He explored her with his hands and lips, and she writhed beneath his touch.

Her skin was as soft as rose petals beneath his rough hand. He fancied she was like some special flower, pampered into blooming in a hothouse, protected from all harshness. A lonely flower, apparently, and one who wished only for someone to love her. He was not the man for her, though, not a low-ranking, baseborn son of a failed father with no name and no one to recommend him.

He could but try to show her what love could be between a man and a woman. He could show her the delight and the satisfaction.

‘I am going to touch you,’ he warned. ‘So I won’t hurt you.’

He slid his hand down her body.

‘Yes, yes, touch me,’ she whispered, placing her hand on his and guiding it to the moist place between her legs.

He eased his fingers inside her and gently stroked and stretched her. The feel of her aroused him further, but still he held back to make certain she was ready for him.

‘Just do it,’ she cried. ‘I want you to.’

He could not hold back now. He rose over her and entered her, moving as slowly as he could manage, when all his body wished to do was to rush to the climax.

* * *

Amelie marvelled at the sensations he created in her. To feel him joined to her was glorious, but each stroke left her urgent with need. This was beyond her expectations, yet her whole body seemed to be screaming, More! More!

She was glad it was Edmund showing her these delights. He was kind and strong and...skilled. Even she, with no experience at all, could tell he knew exactly how to please her. Fowler had left her and Edmund had not. She felt safe in Edmund’s arms in a way she could never be in Fowler’s.

The pleasure Edmund had already given her had been remarkable, but she knew there was more. She needed more. She needed to rush to some destination, though she did not know what it was. The closer they came to it, the faster they ran. She wanted—needed—to reach this place, but, at the same time, she did not want these sensations to end. It was like riding in a racing carriage, powerless to stop, but giddy with excitement, even so.

He moved faster and she moved with him, seeking more.

Suddenly the sensations exploded inside her, flooding her with waves and waves of pleasure, over and above all she’d experienced so far. He thrust one more time and tensed inside her. Was he spilling his seed? It must be so.

He relaxed on top of her, covering her with his body and his weight. How had she suddenly turned to butter, melting beneath him, with no will to move?

He rolled to her side, breathing hard, an arm flung over his face.

‘I—I did not know it could feel like that,’ she murmured.

He turned to face her. ‘It doesn’t always.’

She furrowed her brow. ‘Did I disappoint you?’

He reached over and toyed with a lock of her hair. ‘No, Amelie. You did not disappoint. Anything but.’

She released a breath. ‘Good, because it did not disappoint me either. It was quite the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced. I shall remember it always.’

His expression softened, then turned sad. ‘A memory,’ he murmured. ‘A fine memory.’

She smiled. ‘Yes. And I thank you, Edmund. You have given me more than I knew to desire.’

He turned his head away, and it felt as though he’d run a far distance from her.

Amelie rose on to her elbow. ‘What is wrong, Edmund?’ Why leave me now? she wanted to add.

He sat up and the lamp illuminated his bare chest crisscrossed with scars. He’d soon be in battle again, she remembered.

‘It was not well done of me,’ he said.

She blinked in surprise. ‘Not well done?’ Nothing could have been better.

He looked down on her. ‘Do not let this stop you from seeking a proper marriage, Amelie. No matter what people say, men cannot tell who is a virgin and who is not. This need not spoil your future.’

She sat up. ‘I told you. There will be no marriage for me. This was my only chance—to—to feel that.’ Only now, how was she to bear that she would never feel such sensations again?

‘You will find a man worthy of you, I am certain,’ he said. ‘Do not let this one night stop you.’

She did not care about the rest of her life, only of this moment with him. She was glad he’d been the one to show her such delight. She could not imagine making love to any other man. How had she ever believed she’d want this with Fowler?

She did not wish to argue with Edmund about it though, not when he was bound for battle. ‘I am glad I shared this with you, Edmund. Truly I am.’

He seemed to wince in pain with her words. He rubbed his face and glanced around the room before meeting her eye again.

‘Do you know how to take care of yourself?’ he asked.

She had no idea what he meant. ‘Of course.’

He relaxed. ‘Good.’

She peered at him. ‘Are you regretting this, Edmund?’ She did not want him to regret it. She wanted it to be a lovely memory for both of them.

He stared into her eyes. ‘I am not regretting it for me.’

She flushed with happiness. ‘Then might we do it again? Just one more time before you must leave?’ And face Napoleon’s army.

One more time could not hurt, could it? It would still be like the first time, would it not? No consequences?

He pulled her down on top of him for a kiss that sent the sensation surging through her again and sent any doubts about consequences scattering in the wind.

* * *

Edmund felt no reluctance in making love to Amelie this second time. His guilt belonged solely to the first event, did it not? At least he told himself so. Told himself to savour this unexpected opportunity to experience again the pleasure of her body, the sweetness of her spirit.

Whoever finally won her love would be fortunate indeed.

But to Hades with that man, tonight she belonged to him and this sweet memory of her would always be his alone. When he left here, he’d go to where his horse was stabled. He’d ride hard to where his regiment was billeted and then, when dawn came, they would march toward Napoleon’s army.

To battle.

Edmund had cheated death many a time before. If this was the time luck would fail him, at least he’d die knowing this lovely creature had wanted him.

Had loved him.

He pressed into memory the feel of her skin under his hands, the luxury of her breasts, the taste of her kiss. He rejoiced in her unschooled but sensuous response under his touch. When he entered her again, she felt familiar, as if they’d belonged together for an eternity.

It was a gratifying illusion when the eternity of death was a distinct possibility.

Each moment of lovemaking drove the thought of death from his mind. To Edmund, Amelie represented life. With each stroke his resolve grew. He would live. He must live.

Life was full of possibilities.

His spirits soared as she moved with him, building their need, anticipating their release. He rode the passion to its culmination and, just as if they’d had an eternity to attune themselves to each other, they reached the heights together.

Edmund burst with joy. This was life! He would live for this!

When he lay in languor with Amelie in his arms, they did not speak. He simply enjoyed the comfort of lying next to her, the warmth of her body warming him. Her breathing turned soft and even. She slept the deep satisfied sleep of a woman well loved.

He slipped out of the bed and dressed as quickly and as quietly as he could. It must be nearing three in the morning. He’d need the rest of the night to ride to his regiment. He folded her clothing and searched the room for paper and pen, finding both on a small writing table in the corner.

Dear Amelie,

I shall remember this night with great fondness and gratitude. I hope you remember it without regret. Do not lose heart. Do not let one night or one man take away your dreams. You possess everything any man could desire. One day you will make some lucky gentleman a wonderful wife.

Best regards always,

E.

He folded the paper and placed it next to her on the bed. Then he moved quietly around the room extinguishing the lamps.

All except one candle. By the light of that candle, he took one last look at her. One last image to burn in his memory.

He picked up his bag, blew out the candle and walked out the door.