Page 30 of A Desperate Proposal

“Thank God.” His hold on her waist tightened and he reclaimed her lips for a searing kiss.

Chapter Nine

Elinor Harcourt was driving him mad. Propriety be damned, she was on his lap in Summersby’s library, and he wasn’t letting go. If only the whole house wasn’t buzzing with guests, he’d have dragged her up the stairs and locked them in a bedroom for the rest of the night. Hell, if he could sort a route to the coach house free of people, he’d take that. But there were always a few alternatives to get a moment’s privacy in the midst of a ball, if you knew the house well, and high-backed chairs in a secluded corner were not enough.

He pulled back from Elinor’s lips, only to let himself taste her ivory throat, his hands wandering the body he’d been dreaming of for weeks. A true gentleman would’ve refrained from touching his wife until her wedding night, but that was a damn waste of time. Especially when one’s fiancée was as delectable as Elinor.

“I know I should stop this,” he admitted, against her thrumming pulse. “You must tell me to stop if you wish it so.” It must be her call, he knew. His own patience was gone, lost in the last three measures of brandy he’d downed with her cousin. He’d had enough of holding back, letting her go. To hell with surrendering her. The madness he’d felt on their first meeting had finally blazed through his last scraps of resolve, and decency. He needed her. Only Elinor’s own protest could stop him.

She let out a whimper that froze him in place. “I know I ought to.” Her delicate fingers fluttered to his chest. Her eyes were so full of want they almost looked black. “But that is far from my wish. I … feel very wicked right now.”

“Good.” He let his hand trace her side, flicking her hardened nipple through the layers of chemise, stays, and gown. He kissed her throat again. “It’s so difficult to be careful. Must not muss your hair, or sully your lovely dress…” His other hand was tracing a seam down her back, her hip, along her outer thigh.

“I’ve never liked the dress anyway.” Her fingers trailed along his waistcoat, her impossibly bright eyes examining his clothing as if seeking the solution to a puzzle. “I won’t cry if it’s ruined. We’ll just tell people I fell again.”

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I’m already half-convinced I should ravish you before you change your mind about me.”

“Oh, I have no intention of tempting you, Lord Asherton.” Her sly smile lit his heart. There was the woman he’d glimpsed when he’d kissed her last time, and in passionate discussion of Shakespeare’s infuriatingly dense lovers. Someone who’d welcome physical love and play with her husband like a born courtesan if given half a chance.

“Minx.” He released her breast and seized her hips, securing his grip before he stood up. The benefit of such a petite lover was being able to maneuver her one-armed, pinning her between his hips and the bookcase long enough to open the hidden servants’ door. Nobody would be using it to tend the fire too soon—and if they were, they would be Summersby’s people, and could damn well find a different route. He soon had his giggling, gasping wife-to-be in the near darkness, the door latched behind them. Still, he kept her aloft, using his hips and both arms in ensuring her position off the ground. “Do you want to stop yet?”

“Tristan…” Her voice was tense. Raspy. She cast her gaze down, her hand leaving his chest to grab a handful of satin, and he watched as she lifted her gown higher so she could bring her legs up to wrap around his hips. A soldier’s daughter indeed, he noted, ready to run with every advantage. “I am very fond of you, but if you ask me if I want to stop one more time, I might actually hit you.”

“Then you want me to touch you?” He nipped her lower lip. “In the most intimate of manners? No frozen virgin blushes at the thought of my fingers between your legs?” He traced a slow line inward across her right thigh as she moaned. “Or have you been thinking about just such a touch? Aching, by chance?” He nuzzled her throat, wishing he could mark her. Already fantasizing about the moment he could.

She squirmed as much as she could between his body and the wall, pressing her delectable body against him in ways he’d be desperate to remember for weeks. Her hands went to his shoulders and she leaned in to catch his lips, kissing him with a wanton passion he welcomed. “I have thought of little else but of your arms… Your hands. Your lips. I tried not to, but I couldn’t fight it.”

“I want to hear these thoughts. Tell me what you imagined, sweet Elinor.” His gloved fingers were on her thigh, slipping up to her heat. She was wet, and he bit back a groan at the realization but kept on until he found the spot that made her jump, then lightly stroked the swollen bud.

She parted her lips, but she did not speak. If she meant to, it was silenced by a surprised cry. Her hands tightened at his shoulders, her grip so tight he could feel her nails through the layers of clothing, and she shuddered against him, her body stretching taut.

“So quick to ignite,” he murmured, still stroking her, though he moved his finger from her clit. “Surely that is not your first orgasm?”

Her head fell back as much as the wall would allow, and her chest heaved. But the smile she wore… She laughed breathlessly and opened her eyes, her legs tightening around him to pull him even closer. “Of course not, my lord. My first was the night after you took me for a ride in your carriage.”

He answered with a growl against her shoulder. “I should have driven you to Scotland that afternoon and spent the night begging your pardon with my lips … here.” He circled her clit again.

She gasped, her eyes widening. “Is that…? Really? There?”

“Mm.” He kissed her collarbone. “There. If my lady does not object to the idea.” Though the way her hips moved against his hand, she didn’t seem likely to. “But I dare not stand you on your own two feet for such a dance tonight. Your balance is somewhat lacking.” He pressed a leather-clad fingertip against her entrance, his thumb coaxing her clit to attention again.

She moaned, one hand leaping from his shoulder to the back of his head, fingers curling into his hair. “A-and w-what about you, my lord? What might I do … for you?”

“What have your fantasies suggested as a remedy?” He used the seam of his glove to add a different friction on her clit, just to watch her head fall back, feel the responding tremors.

The hand still on his shoulder began a slow descent down his body—along his chest, over his stomach, to his waist. He half wondered if that’s where she’d stop. But she continued, dipping her hand between their bodies, pressing against his arousal with a curious, tentative touch.

He sighed, letting himself enjoy her exploration, before capturing her hand and depriving her of his touch in the same swift movement. He kissed her, hard. “Words, sweetheart. I want to know your thoughts. These games are famous for going beyond what good, virginal girls are prepared to do. And I have no wish to frighten you.”

She stared at their joined hands, rolling her wrist to press their palms together, her fingers threading through his. “My dreams did not go much beyond this. I … do know something of what happens between lovers, but…” She lowered her gaze. “All I really know, Tristan, is that I want you. I trust you. I am not frightened. Not when I am with you.”

“Good. I’d like to keep it that way.” He let go of her hand to adjust his hold on her hips, and released the fall of his breeches, freeing his erection. “The part where you aren’t frightened,” he clarified. “I suspect you’ll be rather educated in the matter of lovers by the wedding night.”

She went silent, her eyes widening only a fraction. Her swollen lips parted, her breath hitching like she wanted to say something but caught herself. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his. “Um…? I—I may have been mistaken about my limited knowledge. Is that…? That’s meant to go? Surely not…”

He couldn’t help chuckling and put his lips to hers before he answered. “Mm. Not tonight, but yes.” He returned his fingers’ attention to her thigh, exhaling sharply as his cock grazed her skin. “Trust me, you will not be inconvenienced about it when the time comes.” He toyed with her clit, circling her entrance using his forefinger. “The more desperate you are, the wetter you get for me. A few pretty climaxes, and you’ll be begging to be stretched, filled, and claimed.” He teased her tight passage with each word.

“Tristan.” His name escaped her in a moan, her head falling to his shoulder, her hand tightening in his hair. She clung to him in a near desperate hold. Her next moan was muffled by his coat, but as she lifted her head to speak, her lips grazed his jaw, ghosted over his ear. “Tristan. Please.”