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Chapter 10: Staying the Night
Diane realized afterseveral heartbeats that she needed to nod. Then she stood from the bed, turning her back to him. She did not dare breathe until she felt his hand brush along her shoulder, tracing to the center of her back.
The seriousness of the goat's fate had been gathering into a knot in her chest the last hour, the gravity of her own situation finally settled in.
Every slight tug he made at the knots, hooks and eyelets that held her petticoats in place sent a jolt through her chest like when she had first taken off in that carriage. That moment seemed like a lifetime ago, as a hundred life-changing things had happened since then.
As if sensing her thoughts, Liam murmured while he loosened the ties on her dress, “Didn't think this was how your wedding night would go?”
Who she was this morning could never have imagined being at an inn with Liam undressing her, even if it was only for bed. Diane shook her head once. “It’s not my wedding night. I didn’t get married.”
She swallowed, feeling a hollow echo of the unspoken thought between them: and I’m not going to be.
"Half of this adventure, we’ve been fighting,” she said, letting the worries flow freely out. “If we go to Gretna Green and elope, what if we’re fighting about something an hour after the ceremony, or even during it?"
“Then we would fight the entire way home too,” Liam said simply. He tugged apart another knot. “And we’d fight as we consummate our vows.”
“And then we’d fight after, too,” Diane sighed.
“No,” Liam said flatly. His thumb skirted along her shoulder, sending a shiver over her skin. He said then, lower, as her petticoats fell to the floor, “Because I would pleasure you until you can’t think of anything else to argue.”
Something fluttered in her stomach at the thought. Diane nearly asked him to promise her that.
He finished unlacing her stays, and she shrugged them off as well. She heard the floor creak with his weight as he took a step back.
Diane turned, sinking onto the bed behind her, her chemise fluttering around her, the linen near transparent in the candle light. Every breath felt heavy, her wants palpable as the heat in the room.
She met his eyes, and saw it there— he felt it too.
Liam could set up a pile of blankets on the floor, but he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t had those thoughts.
Diane’s eyes flicked down to her stockings, still tied up above her knees, then back to him.
No matter how tomorrow went, there was one thing left she still wanted to try.
She lifted an ankle towards him, an invitation.
For once, Liam Graves, statue extraordinaire, either couldn't or wouldn't mask the magnitude of his want. Perhaps someone less versed in his subtleties wouldn't think he looked on with anything but stoicism; Diane could now see it openly in the barest shift of his features.
She held his unwavering gaze, the intensity of his stare burning into her as he knelt before her. His careful eyes moved to her stockings, as if determined to only focus on the task of removing them.
She bit her lip against any gasp that arose from his hands tracing down her thighs to grip the edges of her stockings, as if on the precipice of tearing them off.
"Do you think you can bed me without a promise of marriage, Mrs. Carter?" he asked, his voice rougher with want.
She could see the way he was at odds with himself. He might not forgive himself for ruining her in the eyes of society, if tonight left her choiceless and destitute. But the carnal want he gripped her thighs with told another story.
His head tipped down and he pressed a rough kiss to her inner thigh, shielded only by the cotton of her stocking. As if they could ravage one another, and it wouldn't count if a layer of cloth separated them the while.
She put a palm to his cheek, and he leaned into her touch, covering her hand with his own, grasping onto it like she could keep his head above water with that sole touch.
"Do you think you could leave me unsatisfied?" she murmured back, spreading her legs a little wider. Diane pulled up the edge of her chemise, the candlelight glinting off the wetness of her cunt.
Her hands curled tight around a fistful of sheets at her own brazenness, how one motion could cut through rules and decorum of a lifetime. This morning she wouldn’t have dared imagine such a thing, and here she was, stating her wants openly.
Liam raised an eyebrow at her challenge, but said nothing. He leaned in to kiss her knee again. He laid kisses up her thigh, his teeth dragging on her hip, up her stomach, making her shiver. For several long moments, it seemed he was determined to find all other ways to pleasure her, kissing her neck and mouthing at her nipples, rubbing them and skimming his hands up her thighs. She wanted to tell him she could not climax from anticipation alone, but each new touch that was almost, almost, almost, — all she could do was respond with little gasps.
