Читать книгу The Historical Collection - Stephanie Laurens - Страница 22

When his silhouette appeared in the doorway, Penny gulped. Audibly.

This was an ancient coaching establishment, centuries old. The floorboards had worn to a dark, grooved polish, and the floors tipped at drunken angles where the walls had settled into the ground. The rooms had low ceilings and even lower door mantels.

When Gabriel entered the room, this all conspired to impressive effect. He filled the doorway, looming and large, and as he walked toward the bed, the floor groaned and creaked beneath his feet.

Out of an instinct of self-preservation, she wriggled to the far side of the mattress and drew the quilt up to her neck. Rationally, she knew she had nothing to fear. Not from him, that was. But as he slung his formidable, masculine body onto the other side of the bed, she was a tiny bit afraid of herself.

He was so warm, and so big. He smelled like soap and clear water, and when she stole a look at him, the hair lightly furring his bared chest was visible in the dim firelight. Her fingers ached to touch him.

“There.” He folded his arms over his chest and crossed his legs at the ankles. “You have an animal in your bed. Sleep.”

Sleep? Impossible.

How could she sleep with such a riot of noise? Her pulse pounded. Her whole body pounded. Her heart, her eardrums, her wrists, the hollows behind her knees—and, throbbing hardest of all, the secret, intimate pulse between her legs.

Falling in lust at first sight was bad enough. This afternoon she’d tumbled into a whole river of desire, all the way up to her neck. Now Penny was drowning in a sea of sensuality. She was confused by it, even a bit panicked—but drawn to him nevertheless.

Because he knew how to swim.

And he could teach her to swim, too.

She covered her face with her hands and groaned into them.

“What?”

“The animals,” she lied. “They’ll have missed their dinner tonight. And unless Mrs. Robbins takes him out—which is unlikely—Bixby will have piddled on the carpet by the time we’re home.”

“There’s nothing to be done about it tonight. Save your strength. The otter was only one animal. We’ve still a dozen or more to get rid of. Not to mention, you have your wardrobe and social obligations to occupy you.”

She stared up at the blackened ceiling beams. “This will never work. Even if we manage to find homes for the animals—and you must admit, we’re not off to an auspicious start—I’ll never meet my aunt’s expectations when it comes to circulating in society.”

“Oh, yes, you will. I’ll make it happen. I’ve money and influence at my disposal.”

“I’ve no doubt you do. But all the money and influence in the world can’t change my nature.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your nature. Your nature is fine.”

For that sentence alone, she could have kissed him.

“I’m a wallflower,” she said. “No, I’m not even a wallflower. At a party, a wallflower stands against the wainscoting. I don’t even make it through the door.”

“Why not?” The bed creaked as he rolled onto his side. “That doesn’t make sense. Aside from the whole daughter-of-an-earl bit, you’re an amiable person. Far too amiable, in my estimation. Is it the crowds? The noise?”

“No, it’s …” Cringing, she turned to face him. “It’s the hedgehog.”

To that, he had no response other than a blank look. She supposed she shouldn’t have expected one.

“I was sixteen the year of my debut. I’d been dreading it for years. At finishing school, I hadn’t fit in with the other girls. I was always more comfortable with animals than people. While the rest of the pupils were painting flowers with their watercolors, I was returning fledglings to their nests. Making friends with hedgehogs. Like Freya.”

She picked at a loose thread on the quilt. “As you can imagine, the other pupils poked fun at me. Laughed at my expense. You know how girls are at that age.”

“Actually, I’m not certain I do.”

“It doesn’t matter. Eventually, I found truer friends. But when I first came to London, I felt rather alone and completely unprepared. My parents were in India, and my Aunt Caroline was—is—a formidable woman. She insisted I enter society. I didn’t want a formal debut, so we compromised, settling on an introduction at Almack’s.”

“Almack’s?” He pulled a face.

“I know, it’s horrid. Do you know they only serve lemonade and biscuits now? I hear they’re not even good. Anyhow, I was so nervous. I didn’t think I could face the ordeal on my own. So I tucked Freya into my pocket.”

“Your gown had pockets?”

“Every gown should have pockets. My Aunt Caroline always insisted, and it’s the one thing on which we agree.” She frowned in concentration. “Where was I?”

“At Almack’s for your grand social debut, eating dry biscuits and hiding a hedgehog in your pocket.”

“Yes. Well, there’s not much else to tell. My first dance was with Bernard Wendleby. He asked me out of family obligation, of course. He didn’t wish to be there any more than I did. Our steps crossed during the quadrille, and his hip collided with mine. I suppose you can see where this is going.”

He nodded slowly. “My mind is painting a picture.”

“Good,” she said brightly. “No need to describe it for you, then.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. I want to hear every last detail.”

She’d feared he would say that. “Freya startled, pricking Bernard with her quills. Bernard jumped in alarm, stepping on my foot. I stumbled forward, sprawling onto the floor. And …”

“And … ?”

“And Freya fell out of my pocket. She rolled across the floor like a ball in lawn bowls. People scattered like pins.”

A low rumble started in his chest.

“Don’t laugh.” She buffeted him with a pillow. “It’s not kind.”

He wrenched the pillow from her grasp. “I never claimed to be kind.”

“I was humiliated. It wasn’t funny.”

“Not at the time, perhaps. Here and now? It is exceedingly funny, and you know it.”

Penny supposed it was. It had been years, hadn’t it?

At the time, her friends had attempted to console her. They’d told her that in time the mortification would fade and the episode would be an amusing story for dinner parties.

Except that she didn’t attend many parties after that.

Now, so removed from that world of Mayfair snobbery, Penny could look back on the scene and appreciate the absurd humor. Once she started giggling, she couldn’t stop.

“The worst of it …” She wiped away tears of laughter. “The worst of it was, one of the patronesses—I can’t recall which one—fainted into the lemonade. She was standing behind me when I fell, and when she saw the hedgehog rolling across the floor …” She buried a giggle in her palm. “She thought it was my head. That I’d somehow decapitated myself when I hit the floor, and my head had gone rolling.”

He shook his head. “Astounding. I never dreamed I’d say this about Almack’s—but I wish I’d been there.”

“If you want to visit, you’ll have to find someone else to take you. My voucher was revoked,” she said proudly. “For life.”

“A pity.” He propped his head on his folded arm and regarded her intently. “So what’s the true reason?”

“The true reason for what?”

“Your retreat from society. Your life as a wallflower.”

“I just told you.”

“You told me a story about one embarrassing moment, years in the past. I’m to believe an earl’s daughter was exiled from the ton over a hedgehog?” He shook his head. “No. There must be more to it than that.”

A knot of panic rose in her throat. She didn’t have another story prepared. Everyone accepted the hedgehog incident as reason enough.

Everyone but him, it would seem.

“I believe it’s your turn,” she said, deflecting the question. “If you want to hear more about my tragic youth, you had better share a story from your own.”

“I don’t have any stories fit for a lady’s ears.”

“Come now, man of mystery. Tell me something. Anything. Your family, your schooling, where you were raised. Surely you have a scar somewhere with an interesting story behind it.” Smiling coyly, she poked him in the ribs. “Here, perhaps?”

He winced in indignation. “What do you think you’re—”

She ran a tickling stroke down the underside of his arm. “Or maybe it’s here?”

“Minx.”

He grabbed her wrist and ducked his head under her arm, lifting her over his shoulder. She shrieked with laughter as he dragged her out from under the quilts. For a moment, she managed to wrestle out of his grasp, but he yanked her back with a tug on her ankle, turning her over his knee. She tickled his belly, and when he cursed and flinched, she gained the advantage.

She straddled his thighs. When he reached for her, she caught his hands and tucked them firmly under her knees. She braced her hands on his torso.

There. She had him pinned to the bed at his hips, hands, and chest. He could easily overpower her once he caught his breath, but for the moment he was her captive.

Her hair hung loose about her neck, and her shirt—his shirt—tugged to the side, slipping down over her shoulder as she gloated in triumph. “Every creature has a soft underbelly. I’m going to find yours.”

“Search me if you like, Your Ladyship. I warn you, it’s not softness you’ll find.”

Search me if you like.

Penny couldn’t resist that invitation.

She trailed a light touch along his collarbone. Keeping his hands pinned with her knees, she ran her fingers over his chest, furrowing through the whorls of dark hair and tracing the contours of his muscles. She pressed her thumbs to his firm, flat nipples.

Years ago, Penny’s mother had brought her a clockwork music box from Austria. It had a scene of a shepherd and a maiden on a mountaintop, and there were levers and handles on all sides. Sliding one made the shepherd bow. Cranking another made the maiden twirl. Turning the key produced a tinkling, friendly tune.

As she explored his body, Gabriel did not bob or twirl. He certainly didn’t hum any tunes. He growled, moaned, winced, and cursed. Yet despite all these sounds of seeming displeasure, he made no effort to discourage her. He made his body hers to explore, just as she’d been longing to do ever since he’d come upon her that first night, draped in a towel and dripping wet.

With one finger, she drew a teasing line down the center of his chest, all the way down to his navel.

He bucked his hips. His erection grazed her sex, and she gasped at the sudden contact. Their bodies were separated by the fine lawn of his shirt and the wool of his trousers, but she could feel him—his length, his heat, his hardness.

His desire.

She’d felt triumphant in tackling him to the bed, but that was nothing compared to the surge of power rushing through her now. The thick, hot column of arousal wedged between her thighs—it was for her. All for her. Excitement rocketed through her body and came to settle in her sex, melting into a soft, throbbing ache.

Desperate to soothe that ache, she rocked against him. The friction sent a pulse of bliss through her body. Judging by his tortured groan, he felt it, too.

His head fell back against the mattress. “God. Yes. Again.”

“Ask nicely.” She levered her weight onto her knees, pressing his hands deeper into the straw-tick mattress and lifting her pelvis to break contact. “Ask me by my name.”

After a grumble of complaint, he gave in. “Lady Penel—”

“Penny,” she corrected. “Call me Penny.”

She was every bit as desperate as he was for more, but she couldn’t let the opportunity slip from her grasp. She’d been asking him to use her name for days now, and this might be her one chance to make him comply.

He gritted his teeth. “For the love of God, woman.”

“Penny.”

“Fine. Penny. There. Are you happy, Penny? How many times do you wish to hear it, Penny? Damn it, Penny. I’ve been craving this the whole cursed day, Penny. I’m going mad with lust, Penny. Penny, Penny, Pen—” She lowered her hips to his. “Christ.”

“That will do for now.”

“Thank God.”

She shifted gently, easing to and fro until his hardness nestled snug against her cleft.

Instinct took over. Penny braced herself on locked arms, hands flat against his chest, as she rubbed her body over his in a slow, steady rhythm.

“That’s it,” he murmured, rocking beneath her. “Just like that. It’s good?”

She nodded, too drunk on sensation to be missish or shy. “So good.”

“Go on, then.”

“Go on and what?”

“Ride me,” he whispered. “Use me. Take your pleasure.”

She hesitated.

“Have you never … ? Perhaps they don’t teach that at finishing school.” He moved as though he would free his arms. “I’ll show you.”

“No.” She clasped his biceps, holding him down. “I don’t need help.”

She had a big, beautiful man at her mercy, and she wasn’t going to relinquish control. Oh, she was under no illusions that she had him physically overpowered. He could have flipped their places at any instant.

She hadn’t taken the reins. He’d given her the reins. And that made it all the better.

She decided how to begin, when to stop. Whether to tease them both with grazing friction or grind her hips. She set the pace. It was hers to grant or deny him mercy when he pleaded in a whisper: “Faster.”

With every motion—slow or quick, firm or gentle—her pleasure spiraled higher. Her breathing grew uneven, and she flushed with heat.

She fell forward to kiss him, searching his mouth. Exploring. As their tongues tangled, his whiskers scraped her lips and chin. Her nipples puckered to knots, exquisitely sensitive. With every movement, they kissed the hard planes of his chest.

Bliss rushed at her from all sides, propelling her toward that distant promise of satisfaction. Her rhythm lost all elegance. Her hips jerked and bounced as her urgency grew.

“Yes.” His voice was strained. “Hold nothing back. I want to feel you come against me. I want to hear the sounds you make.”

His words of encouragement had the opposite effect. For the first time, she felt a moment’s trepidation. She’d never climaxed with another person. It had taken her years to feel comfortable with herself, let alone a man. When the pleasure broke, she would be bared to him. More naked than naked.

She let her brow fall against his shoulder, hiding her face. She whimpered against his skin. “Hold me.”

In an instant, he freed his hands and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair and caressing her back, giving her the safety she needed. “I have you, love. I have you.”

As she began to move once more, his hands slid down her back. He cupped and squeezed her bottom, guiding her. Urging her. Dragging her over his hard length again and again and again. Holding her through that last, unnerving moment of nothingness, and pushing her into the brightness on the other side.

Joy shivered over her skin and pulsed through her veins. She buried her cries of pleasure in the curve of his neck.

As the climax ebbed, the tension left her body, melting into his heat. A beautiful sense of peace drifted through her. As if she were sitting in a toasty room on a cold day, watching snowflakes land on the windowsill.

He didn’t share the same languor. His erection jutted against her belly, still fiercely hard and unsatisfied. He drove a hand between their bodies and tugged at his trouser buttons.

“Sorry,” he said. “Can’t wait any longer.”

Penny rolled to the side. Should she offer to help? It only seemed fair to repay him the favor. But then, she had no idea how to help. Perhaps her fumbling would do more harm than good.

As he slid his hand into his trousers, she came to one unwavering decision. Whether he desired her assistance or not, she was definitely going to watch.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see. Before her eyes could adjust to the firelight, he had his hand tightly wrapped around the object of her curiosity, and then he pumped his fist so quickly, she saw nothing but a shadowy blur. In a matter of moments, his body jerked and he made a low, guttural sound. With his free hand, he groped for a corner of tangled bedsheet. He drew it over his groin while he shuddered and finished with a few slower strokes.

“That”—he fell back against the bed—“was a close thing. It was all I could do to not spend in my trousers. But then we wouldn’t have had a single clean article of clothing between us.”

They lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. As their breathing eased, an awkward silence fell over them both.

When two people were in love, or at least true lovers, Penny supposed they would spend this time cuddling and settling in for a good, deep sleep. But she and Gabriel weren’t in love, and despite what had just happened, they weren’t truly lovers. They were neighbors with little in common, save for a shared interest in not being neighbors anymore. What were the rules for this? What did she want them to be?

The questions hovered above them like a cloud.

He offered the worst possible suggestion. “I should probably apologize.”

“If you dare, I will beat you mercilessly with a pillow.”

A loud knock came at the door of the suite. The voice on the other side of the door belonged to a sleepy innkeeper. “Sir, you asked to be roused at once if your coachman arrived.”

“The hell I did,” Gabriel muttered. “He just wants to be certain he’s paid.” He pushed to his feet and buttoned his trousers, then cleared his throat. “I, er … I’ll need my shirt.”

“Oh. Of course.” Penny slid her arms from the sleeves, pulled it over her head, and buried herself beneath the quilt before passing it in his direction. Despite all her bravery a few minutes ago, she’d grown vulnerable and shy.

He pushed his hands through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it, and then he left her alone with that looming, unanswered question.

What now?