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Concentrate on him, she urged herself as her fingers tingled and the tension within her coiled tighter.
She suspended her kisses to strip off his boots, socks and trousers, then urged him down on the bed, pressing him back against the pillows. But when she lifted her skirts to follow him, intending to straddle the erection that sprang up boldly before her, he stopped her.
‘My turn.’
She made a murmur of inarticulate protest, but, ignoring it, he stood and turned her so he might access the fastenings of her gown. Not wanting to provoke a dispute by refusing, she allowed him to proceed.
She’d just have to resist as best she could—and resist she would, she promised herself.
Stiffening, she suffered him to unfasten her bodice and skirt, tightening her jaw as he began to caress her breasts through the linen of her chemise. He cupped them in his big hands, dragged his thumbs over the nipples until they peaked, each swipe sparking a flash of sensation that shot right to her core.
Her control already unravelling, she jumped when he hooked a finger at the hem of the chemise and dragged it up, letting cool air flow over the hot, damp place between her legs. Gently he pushed her to the bed, kissing her with insistent, drugging kisses that stole her breath.
Her pulse grew unsteadier still as she struggled to resist the tide of sensation hammering at her. She bit down on her lip to keep herself from rubbing against him when his finger insinuated itself between her thighs, bit down even harder when he slid that finger up to caress the nub at her centre. Her arms ached from holding herself rigid.
Then he slipped that finger inside her, evoking a sensation so intense, she had to hold her breath until she almost lost consciousness to battle down a response.
He bent to kiss her again, suckling her tongue in rhythm to the stroking finger. Everything within her seemed to be melting, building towards some precipice she was desperate to reach.
If she couldn’t stop him before she got there, she’d come apart.
Frantic, she broke the kiss, rolled on to the bed and pulled at his hips, urging him over her. ‘Now!’ she gasped.
Mercifully, he must have thought she was ready to finish. At once, he plunged within, filling her, which was better—or maybe worse. Rocking urgently against him—this time, she simply couldn’t remain motionless—she sought to bring him to fulfilment, before the sensations he was unleashing drove her mad.
In deep, penetrating thrusts he drove to the core of her, possessing her through every inch of her body. So the two become one flesh, flashed through her disjointed mind.
Never. Never one. Not now. Chance. Once. Lost.
Thoughts disintegrating to chaotic bits, she despaired of holding out any longer, when, buried deep within her, Alastair went rigid and cried out. A few moments later, he collapsed on her, then rolled with her to his side.
Heart hammering a crazy rhythm in her chest, she tried to steady her breathing. Please, let him fall asleep now, as he had the night before. Any illusions of courage abandoned, she would steal out as soon as his relaxed body and steady breathing told her he was beyond consciousness.
She couldn’t withstand a repetition of that assault on her senses.
With him limp beside her, she wriggled free of his entrapping arm. Silently, she threw on her skirt and fixed the pins of her bodice as best she could—thank heavens for the all-concealing cloak! She was groping for her shoes, ready to tiptoe out, when a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist.
She jumped, startled by his touch. Desperate to escape, she attempted a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m afraid I must...must get home. Right now. My son. I’ll...I’ll meet you again. T-tomorrow?’
Sweet heavens, she was stuttering, her control a shambles. She had to get away.
‘He denied you passion, too, didn’t he?’
Unable, unwilling to answer, she stared at him, her eyes begging him for the mercy of release.
‘Why won’t you let me give you pleasure?’
‘Why would you want to?’ she shot back, anguish loosening the hold over her tongue.
His lazy eyes widened. ‘You can’t believe I’d try to hurt you?’
‘You have no reason to be kind. Please, Alastair, I’ll come tomorrow, I promise, but no more tonight.’
She was trembling now, light-headed with sensations denied, torn between her body’s eagerness for what he offered and her need to resist. If she didn’t get out soon, the battle might rip her in two, right here in bedchamber.
She nearly let out a sob when he let go of her wrist. ‘Very well. I would never keep you against your will. But...tomorrow?’
She nodded, her head bobbing back and forth like a child’s toy. This had been bad, much worse than she’d anticipated. But with twenty-four hours of calm reflection, away from his disturbing presence, she could figure out anything. ‘Yes, tomorrow.’
‘Goodnight, then, Diana.’
Whirling around, she headed towards the door. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her back as she scurried, like a mouse racing from the cat, out of the room and down the stairs.
* * *
After Diana’s abrupt departure, Alastair stared at the open doorway. Her effect on him had not been lessened after the first possession yesterday. In fact, with the enthusiasm of her ministrations, his climax tonight had been even more intense. So intense, his mind was still not functioning properly, or else he’d not have let her go so easily.
Instead, disturbed and disbelieving, he would have coaxed her to stay and questioned her further.
It was hard to credit that she’d truly been deprived of books and supplies. But years of gauging the veracity of men’s accounts from their tone and manner as they related them, a skill essential to an officer in an army at war, argued that what she’d revealed was the truth.
What kind of man would take away what most delighted his wife, only because she’d displeased him?
The same kind who would force her into marriage by threatening her father with debtors’ prison and her fiancé with ruin?
When she’d first related to him the reasons behind her marriage, he’d rejected the story with contemptuous disbelief. But from the bits he’d just pried from her, it was just possible that her tall tale might be true.
Another memory surfaced: once during their courtship, he’d read her a piece of effulgent, adjective-laden verse, then waited expectantly for her reaction. After a few moments, her lips opening and closing as she sought a response, she’d blurted, ‘Oh, Alastair, that was awful!’ After a moment of outrage, he’d laughed and admitted that it was overwritten.
He’d teased her that she’d have to marry him rather than some dandy of the ton, for as impossible as she found it to prevaricate, she’d never be fashionable. She’d readily agreed, confessing that her mind went completely blank when faced with constructing a polite evasion to mask her real thoughts, especially if pressed by her questioner.
As he had pressed her tonight.
What was he to make of what she’d revealed...and what she’d left out?
Puzzlement and something more than curiosity stirred in him. Something like compassion, and a concern he didn’t want to feel.
All he’d hoped for tonight was to have the gift he’d offered relax Diana enough to finally break the hold she was maintaining over her response to him. Still, he had to admit, he’d enjoyed looking for something to tempt her.
He’d always loved giving her gifts. She’d accepted even the simplest with joy, appreciative of the care he had taken in choosing them. He’d been delighted when he hit upon the idea of the paints, sure she would find them impossible to resist. He’d spent a good deal of time looking for the finest pigments and brushes available.
Instead of accepting the supplies with the pleasure he’d envisaged, she’d put them back in the box and recommended he return them.
He tried once again to take in the incomprehensible notion that a girl of her ability no longer painted.
Well, he’d not be returning them. It was a travesty for an artist of her skill to give up the brush, almost an insult to the father from whom she’d inherited her talent.
He’d have to try tempting her with them again.
Which reminded him of her shocking response to his offer to give her pleasure. Though he’d been stung when she’d seemed suspicious of his reasons, he had to concede her instincts hadn’t been all that far off the mark.
He hadn’t entered this affair for her benefit. Not that he’d precisely wanted to hurt her. Indeed, given how indifferent she’d appeared to him the last few times they met, he’d not considered it possible to injure her. He had, however, wanted to reach her and force a response.
He still wanted that. Every instinct he possessed told him that tonight, he’d come a hair’s breadth close to sweeping her beyond control. Next time, he was convinced, he would bring her all the way to completion.
But now, he wanted more than physical surrender.
Not just her body had responded to him. He’d caught her staring at him when he entered the parlour tonight; unaware he was inspecting her closely as well, she’d not been wearing the impassive mask behind which she normally retreated. In her unguarded expression, he’d read wonder, attraction, and a vulnerability completely at odds with the controlled, emotionless woman she tried to appear.
