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She looked up at him, her eyes dark with desire and anguish. "Please, Tony, don't push me away.
Don't leave me all alone!"
Please, Tony... When she seemed to need him so badly and called him by name, how could he not heed her plea?
Were he a better man, he might have summoned the wit to find a safer way. As it was, when she reached up and pulled his head down, captured his lips and delved into his mouth, his rioting senses rejoiced. Only the last, tiny functioning bit of his brain wondered despairingly whether, after this voyage to heaven was done, she would ever forgive him.
His final conscious thought before he gave himself up to the long-anticipated pleasure of her arms was if he must face hell's wrath later, he would savor every taste of paradise now.
He tried, he really did try, to hold himself back, slow the pace, but Jenna was having none of it. Her tongue scouring his, she nibbled and sucked at his mouth while her impatient fingers pulled at his garments. Swiftly dispensing with the fastenings of his greatcoat, she tugged aside his coat and waistcoat, yanked at his shirt. He heard the protesting rent of fabric and then, in an electrifying slide that made him gasp, felt the soft warmth of her hands against the bare skin of his chest.
He tried to pull her closer, but she fended him off, mimicking with her fingers on his nipples the glancing caresses of her tongue against his. Groaning, he stilled, allowing her this pas de deux of tongue and fingertip, pleasure coursing through him and bringing him very close to the limits of his control.
He would like to have returned the favor, but her pelisse and gown were protected by an army of tiny fastenings his lust-clumsy fingers could not conquer. While he fumbled at her neckline, she caught his hands, moved them down to her skirts.
Comprehending the request, he began pulling the fabric upwards, hungry for the feel of her bare skin under his hands. At last he worked the material up high enough to be able to stroke the glorious roundness of her calves.
Intent on his goal, he'd just blessed his woolen trousers, whose muffling thickness might allow him to stave off completion long enough to bare and caress and taste her essence, when her clever fingers suddenly transferred themselves to his trouser flap. His hands, any remaining thought and all movement stilled as she plucked open the first straining button.
With a fumbling, disjointed movement he tried to resume his own quest, but she caught his hand. Still nibbling and teasing his tongue, she popped open two more buttons.
Much as he wanted to taste her, knowing instinctively what she intended, he could not bring himself to stop her, even though her touch there might well catapult him beyond control. Clever torturess that she was, she seemed to sense he would not try to prevent what her swift, deliberate actions promised.
He sucked in a breath at the feel of chill air against his overheated member, then stopped breathing altogether when she grasped him and took his measure in one firm stroke of his shaft. Her tongue still working his, she feathered her fingers up and down his length, caressed with her thumbs the taut throbbing skin at his tip.
Well beyond words or caution, immobilized by her touch, he didn't think the sensations could get more intense without driving him over the edge-until in one swift motion, she bent and tasted him. After laving the head of his erection with quick, glancing strokes, she paused to suckle, sending scorching waves of pleasure radiating throughout his body and wrenching a cry from his throat.
Seeming to sense just how close to the precipice she'd driven him, she released him and moved away.
Before the guttural exclamation of protest left his lips, she'd guided him back against the pinestraw cushioning, pulled up her skirts, and straddled him.
For a moment the sheer wonder of finding himself enclosed within her warm flesh paralyzed him, swelled his chest with a sweetness as piercingly intense as his desire. But before he had a chance to savor it, to pull her face to his and cover it with kisses, she began to rock her hips, driving him deeper.
Wanting desperately for the loving to be as rapturous for her as it was for him, he bit his lip, knowing he wouldn't be able to last much longer under that exquisite onslaught. But suddenly she tensed, her fingers biting into his shoulders as she uttered a fierce cry.
Caught off guard by the swiftness of her climax, he exterminated the protest of his thwarted body and simply held her, drinking in the sound of her gasping breaths as they eased and steadied. Relieved to have pleased her, loath as he was to have passion ended, he was about to make himself pull gently away when, hugging him close, she once again rocked her hips.
His rigid shaft, still sheathed deep within her, leapt in response. Murmuring in what sounded like approval, she quickened the pace, pulled his head down to lick his lips with greedy impatience. His member tightening at each stroke of her tongue, though he craved the satisfaction of hearing and feeling her dissolve into climax around him again, he wasn't sure he could hold off long enough the explosion building within.
But as before, her desire spiraled quickly, and within a few moments her even breathing had deteriorated to ragged gasps. He reached down to cradle her buttocks and bring her closer, increasing the force and depth of each thrust. And seconds later, her fingers once again clenched on his shoulders and her body convulsed.
Like the most exquisite starburst, the tension within him exploded, firing every nerve with sensations that lingered, scintillating and shimmering, in long slow aftershocks. As rapture cooled to simmering hum, he fought the urge to sink into blissful unconsciousness.
Knowing how little time he had left to savor the incredible gift she'd just given him, he cradled her against him, tangling his fingers in the damp tendrils that had escaped the pins of her coiffure. Until he realized that the small, slight tremors now shaking her body were not the aftermath of passion-but stifled sobs.
Anguish skewered his chest. He wanted to comfort her, offer words of affection, but the syllables clogged in his throat. He could only hug her more tightly while moisture filled his own eyes and dripped down into her hair.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed thus, but some time later, with a shuddering sigh, Jenna gently pushed herself upright. With quaint dignity, on hands and knees she backed away, removing herself from him-and him from her-until beyond the sheltering branches, she stood and smoothed down her skirts, turning away while she tidied herself to give him privacy to straighten his own garments.
He wished rather desperately to say something, but could not decide what. She'd likely dismiss as too facile or calculated the endearments on the edge of his tongue, however genuine and honestly he felt them. She might even resent them, believing he had no right to offer, nor she to hear, any words of affection.
As she remained silent, in the end he said nothing, either.
His humiliation deepened at knowing he was going to have to half-crawl from under the branches until he could reach a handhold far enough from the tree's base to be able to lever himself upright.
But before he could initiate that procedure, Jenna leaned closer and offered her hand. With his other arm braced against the tree and her pulling, he was able to stand up.
Touched by that kindness, an ember of hope stirred. Maybe she wasn't going to despise him after all.
But she did nothing further to encourage that optimism, turning her back on him again once he was upright and walking with quick steps back toward the meadow.
He limped after, stopping her with a touch before she could exit the curtain of greenery. Though she flinched, at least she did not pull away.
"I believe our assailant rode off immediately after he fired the shot, but let's be prudent." As they had just been most imprudent. "I'd prefer that we avoid the road and make our way downhill under the cover of these woods."
"Will that not be more...difficult for you?" she asked without looking at him.
She meant his leg, of course. "I can manage," he replied shortly. "Also, though the coachman and footmen seemed as startled by the shot as we, just in case someone at Fairchild House is involved, I shall tell them I've concluded it was a hunter's stray bullet."
"As you wish," she said, and stood aside to let him lead the way.
As you wish... So many things he wished for. That he could have been as strong and upright of character and frame as the man she'd loved. That she might have looked at him after their coupling with joy, or at least satisfaction, in her eyes. That she would look at him at all, now.
That she might not banish him forever.
The silence in which they made their slow descent over the often steep, rock-strewn ground did not give Tony much reason to believe any of his wishes would be granted. Not until they reached the inn yard did Jenna turn to him and say softly, "Thank you...for keeping me safe."
Before he could reply-even if he'd known what to reply-Sancha spotted them and came running, throwing her arms about her mistress with a welcoming cry. And then the footmen appeared, babbling questions, and the coachman approached, wishing to know whether they intended to continue their journey.
Deciding that until they solved the mystery of the attack, it would not be wise to take her into unfamiliar territory, after answering the inquiries with the story they'd agreed upon, Tony told the coachman to ready the carriage for a return to the metropolis. Then Sancha, her thanks ringing in his ears, shooed him away to partake of some ale and hot meat pies, telling him she had bespoken a private parlor where she could assist her mistress to bathe her face and repair the ravages crawling under pine trees had wrought in her gown and hair.
