The Complete Regency Surrender Collection. Louise Allen
the nub of pleasure hidden in the folds of her body. And suddenly she was as far away from her fears as she had ever longed to be. There was no peace here, no separation from the needs of her body. There was only the wildest kind of pleasure, pounding blood, beating heart and the trembling of each ecstatic muscle. Somewhere, in a very distant place, she was begging for more, calling him her beloved, Will, William, Will.
When he was slow to respond, she pushed away from him, reached down, gripped his manhood and impaled herself on it, soaring even higher as he thrust within her. She held him close with arms and legs and the very centre of her being.
When had she ever felt like this before? It was if her body was one with his, feeling that rush of release that men seemed to crave above all things. He was already spent when she came back to earth again, sinking slowly down the length with a sigh, too weak to move.
He took the opportunity to roll her to the left side of the bed again, the one she preferred. Then he followed her, burying his face against her breasts and taking the nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking. His fingertips played over her body with feather-light touches, stroking her shoulders, her calves, and slipping between her legs. Before she could protest, she was flying again, not as high as she had, but flying all the same, then settling gently back down to see Will’s smiling face, close to hers.
‘Justine,’ he whispered. ‘Justine. If you were not already mine, I would have to make you so, after this night. How could I have lived, before I met you? And how could I go on without you?’
‘You will not have to,’ she whispered. ‘I am yours, for now, and for ever.’ It was good, for a change, to be speaking the truth to him, for that was what this was. She knew not how, but she would make it so. Diamonds or no diamonds, she would be William Felkirk’s wife.
* * *
Will stared at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. How good it was to feel this way again, exhausted from lovemaking, half-sleeping, half-waking, with a beautiful woman in his arms. Justine lay curled beside him, sweet and soft as a kitten, her face pressed against his shoulder as if she had fallen asleep in the middle of a kiss.
He was struck, once again, by how unexpected she was. If he’d had to envision the woman he would take as his wife, she would not have been it. He rather thought he’d have ended up with one of the giggling chits at Almack’s. Though empty headed, they seemed the most logical choice. He would choose the least annoying of the bunch and marry her. They would be seen around London together, travelling in a smart set, going to parties, dinners, musicals and balls. Eventually, there would be children.
But this girl? Empty headed was the last thing he’d have thought to call her. There was a sense that something was going on, running deep, like the proverbial still waters. But on the surface, there was the quiet of an undisturbed pond. Did she like parties, games and dancing? If so, she did not say.
She liked marmalade and novels. And him. He smiled. In her company, he found an unexpected joy in quiet. The sight of her in his sitting room, in her plain cap, bent over her needlework was a study in contrast. It made him want to uncover the beauty beneath the simple gown and peel back the linen covering her hair, so that he might kiss it.
To find her so willing in his bed, and so bold... He felt another rush of emotion. Desire. Possessiveness. Was it too soon to claim this as love? Had he known her for months, or less than a week?
Or had he known her for ever and spent his life waiting for the moment they might be together? Common sense told him he could not feel love after so short a time in her company. But his heart announced that, in this case, common sense was wrong. There was nothing common about the sensations he felt, when with her. And after tonight, he knew she felt the same when she was with him.
He laid a hand on her hip, smoothing over the curve. As he watched her, she twitched in his arms, went rigid, shuddered, then was still for a moment before going rigid again. Was it a dream? Apparently so, for she did not open her eyes as she tossed her head from side to side as though trying to escape from something or someone. To comfort her, he held her tighter. She jerked away and said, quite plainly, ‘Don’t touch me. Never again.’ Then she sat up, suddenly awake. She gasped for air as though she had been running and looked wildly around her for a moment.
He carefully withdrew his hand from her body. Did his touch frighten her? She had not been bothered by it a few hours before. ‘You are safe, Justine. It was only a dream.’
She looked at him for a moment, unable to recognise him. She shrank away from him, wrapping her arms around her body, looking smaller and more helpless than he had seen her.
‘It was a dream,’ he repeated.
‘Only a dream,’ she repeated. Then her eyes focused on him and she smiled in relief.
‘Do you wish to tell me about it? Sometimes it helps to take away the fear.’
‘No!’ She shuddered again, then carefully composed herself to show him the usual, placid smile. But it was only an illusion, for her hair still hung damp with sweat on her face and her limbs trembled with suppressed energy.
‘Very well,’ he said, in a soft calming voice. ‘But know that you needn’t be afraid, as long as I am here.’
‘Of course not,’ she said, although she did not sound convinced. Was it nothing more than fantasy? Or was there something in her past that gave her a reason to fear? Life was not always kind to women who were poor and alone. Men could be predatory and a weak girl would not be able to protect herself. Whatever it was, it was clearly no fault of hers, for when he looked at her in the candlelight he could not imagine a more innocent creature. He patted the mattress.’ Lay back down beside me. Let me hold you. I will make everything better.’
She did as he bade her, relaxing into his arms as the tension drained from her body. He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her temples. ‘There, see? Nothing to be afraid of.’
She sighed. ‘This feels so good.’ She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder again. ‘I could sleep here and never wake.’
‘Do not say that,’ he said, tipping her chin up so he could look in her eyes. ‘Do not even think it. Now that I have found you, I do not want to lose you so soon.’
She blinked slowly and, for a moment, he thought that she might be about to cry. But when she spoke, there was no trace of a sob in her voice. ‘I am sorry if I frighten you. But in my life, until now, there has not been such happiness. Some of the things in my past, before I met you...were very difficult.’
Difficult. It was said in her quiet, unassuming way, as though she might not truly understand the meaning of the word. Where she might say difficult, another might speak of horror and bear scars greater than the one on his arm that she was now stroking. Do not touch me? They were the words of someone who had been beaten, or violated. All the more reason for him to be gentle with her and treat her like the treasure she was.
‘Are you not the one who taught me it is only the future that matters?’ He kissed her again. ‘That future will be as sweet as I can make it for you.’
‘And for you as well.’ She stroked his arm again, running her fingers lightly over the smooth, red patch, where the skin had been ruined by the fire. ‘Does it hurt, when I touch you here?’
He shrugged, embarrassed that he could not feel her touch through the thickness of the scar. ‘It did at one time. But now I feel nothing.’
‘It is the same for me,’ she said. ‘Sometimes, it is better not to feel anything at all.’
‘But you can feel my touch, I hope,’ he said sleepily, stroking her arm again.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘And my scar does not frighten you?’ It had been a fearsome thing at one time. Even he had cringed when looking at it.
‘I like it,’ she whispered back. ‘You are like your house. Not too perfect. Just right.’
His throat