Page 59 of A Daring Desire

“Ciarán.”

He had never heard it said in such a way before, whispered with such dreamlike rapture, his throat grew tight with unexpected emotion. The sensation shocked him to such a degree he wondered what might happen when he finally bedded her, for he had never put love and sex together before, had never known the intimacy he experienced in this moment with any other lover. It was a daunting prospect. He pulled her closer, burying his face in the delicate curve of her neck, inhaling a scent that was light and floral and far from the cloying, sophisticated perfumes he was used to.

“So sweet,” he murmured. “So perfect. Catherine, my darling, my love.”

Words he had never spoken in his life before tumbled from his lips unchecked, his heart too caught in the moment to allow his natural reserve to keep them concealed.

His wife reacted to them by clinging to him and giving a soft, breathless cry as she came, shattering under his gentle caresses. Kilbane held her close to him, overwhelmed by the trust she gave him, and dying by slow degrees as his body clamoured for him to sink into her welcoming body. But the taut shivers that wracked her slender frame subsided, and she softened against him with a sigh.

“Oh, thank you. That was so lovely,” she said sleepily, snuggling against him.

Well, and there was retribution for past sins, he thought wryly, for she was every bit as exhausted as he had supposed and there was no possibility of him finally seeing to the consummation of their marriage tonight.

“Wicked little temptress,” he grumbled, doing his best to set her to rights for they would be home soon enough, and she was hardly fit to be seen by any but her husband, delightful as the picture of dishevelled innocence was.

She gave a soft laugh. “Poor Ciarán. Does it hurt?” she asked, covering his aching member with her slim hand and stroking.

He muttered an oath and removed it from his person. “Behave,” he said sternly. “It isn’t nice to tease me.”

“I told you I’m not half so nice as you think I am,” she retorted with amusement, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he regretfully tucked her splendid breasts back into the confines of her corset and endeavoured to do up all that she had undone.

He returned a low, grumbling sound that she might interpret how she liked, and by the time the carriage drew up at Connaught Place, she was more or less set to rights, and sound asleep.

Cat sighed, stretching luxuriously in her bed. Daylight filtering through the curtains suggested the hour was well advanced, but the staff knew better than to disturb her the morning after a ball. She would ring when she was ready to break her fast.

Gradually, the events of the previous night filtered back to her sleepy brain, from the distressing words she had spoken to her father, to dancing with her husband, and then those intimate, glorious moments on the journey home. She felt a flush of heat wash over her, from her toes to the top of her head, as she remembered the feel of his clever hands upon her body. Oh, but he had been everything she had known he would be, and she exalted in the knowledge that he had wanted her badly. If she was any judge, he would have found sleep hard to come by last night. She grinned, and then started as a soft huff of breath fluttered against her shoulder.

Turning carefully, she discovered her husband sprawled on the bed beside her, on top of the covers. He was sound asleep, his black hair tousled, one arm flung carelessly up over his head. His long limbs took up an inordinate amount of room and she now realised she had been corralled to the far edge of the mattress. Though he still wore his trousers and shirt, his waistcoat was undone, his coat and cravat discarded on the back of the chair before her dressing table.

He had stayed.

The knowledge made her smile, happiness bubbling up in her chest as she regarded him. In repose, his face lost the hard, cynical lines that his experiences had etched there. His mouth, absent of the cruel smile he habitually aimed at those who dared judge him, was sensual and soft, slightly parted as he breathed deeply. Cat blinked, seeing in this unguarded moment a man far younger than he appeared in his waking hours, his expression wiped clean of dissipation and almost innocent, the tumble of black curls at his forehead making him appear boyish. She reached out, stroking the thick locks, and he stirred, heaving a great sigh. Cat admired the sweep of long, thick eyelashes against his high cheekbones and wondered if it would be very bad of her to wake him. He must be tired after the strain of last night, for it was not so long ago he had been so dreadfully ill. Yet there was an empty clamouring sensation deep inside her and having him so near with the memory of his touch upon her body was enough to make her wild with impatience.

Telling herself sternly she must give him a little longer to sleep, she slipped from the bed and hurried to the bathing room. Here she performed her morning ritual, washing herself and releasing her blonde hair from the thick plait her maid had put it in before she’d fallen into bed. It cascaded over her shoulders in shining waves. Padding softly to her dressing room, Cat selected a fine cream silk wrap, edged with lace, and slipped it on. She shivered a little as the cool fabric slid over her skin. Satisfied, she went back to the bedroom where her husband was just as she’d left him.

She admired him for a moment longer before climbing back onto the bed. The movement disturbed him, and the thick lashes stirred, a startling flash of violet blue glimpsed for a moment before his eyes closed again, and then snapped open.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said, kneeling at the end of the bed by his feet.

His attention riveted upon her, his sultry gaze as heavy and dangerous as a sleepy tiger, roving over her, stirring the liquid warmth already pooling in her core until it simmered. With her nerves leaping with anticipation, Cat tugged at the silk sash of her robe, releasing it, and allowing the sleek fabric to slide from her shoulders, leaving her naked before him.

He did not move a muscle, but his throat worked convulsively. For a long, breathless moment, he only watched her.

“Come here,” he commanded, his voice a harsh rumble of sound that made her nerves leap.

Cat did as he asked, crawling up the bed to kneel beside him.

She smiled down at him, nervous but unafraid.

“Kiss me.”

Only too eager to comply Cat bent to press her mouth to his, one hand braced on his chest as she put to good use the things he had taught her last night, tangling their tongues together in a sinuous dance as her hair cascaded around them in a blonde curtain. His hand came up, stroking the long tresses, tangling it around his hand until he held it like a silken rope. The look in his eyes made heat rush over her skin, every inch of her awakened as if for the first time.

His free hand moved to her waist and pulled her down, sprawling over his chest as he took her mouth again, fiercer this time. She met his kisses with her own, eager for whatever he would give her, so desperate after too many years of waiting and wanting.

He turned her onto her back, and stared down at her, rubbing the hair coiled about his hand against his mouth before he released it. It spilled over her body, sliding over the generous mound of her breasts to frame them, leaving them exposed.

“You look like a mermaid,” he said, tracing a finger over one plump curve as she shivered beneath his touch. “Something wild and rare that I have caught and imprisoned, bound to me, come what may.”