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“You,” she gasped, fully submerged in the excitement she had only heard whispers of. “Only you, Anthony.” A brush of his thumb at the apple of her cheek caused Beatrice to open her eyes again and even in the low light of the room, she could see the ardent way he gazed upon her. This was entirely different from the way Beatrice had imagined he felt for her and in a flurry of emotion, she tilted her head up to kiss him.
While they shared a wordless promise of adoration, Beatrice felt the tip of him prodding at her, but before she could move her hips forward, Anthony stopped her. “Breathe for me, my love,” he whispered, taking himself in hand to press into her. “There will be a slight sting, but then you will be mine, and I will be yours.”
Beatrice’s brow furrowed at the feeling of him ruining her maidenhood, an act to which she sharply inhaled, and Anthony soothed her with light kisses. If she had thought their earlier activities new, then this was like being reborn, like becoming one with the man she wished to spend eternity with. Now that he was seated inside her to the hilt – a position that made Beatrice throb around him – there were no more barriers between them. No more lies or secrets or even social normalcies that would have prevented them from knowing each other this way before marriage.
Anthony breathed out a heavy sigh, muttering, “You feel amazing, Beatrice. How could I have been so blind as to almost deny myself the wonder of your touch?”
Beatrice herself had to take a moment to steady her breathing, managing to respond with a breathy laugh, “I cannot fathom why either of us did not do this sooner. I feel as though I have wasted my life for not indulging in this until now.”
When he rocked his hips back and forward again, Beatrice found an even heightened sense of pleasure, muffling her ecstatic cries with the back of her hand where it was flung in a dramatic fashion over her face. “How I wish I could hear you right now, darling girl,” Anthony grunted, exerting himself over her. “Perhaps on our wedding night you will do me the honor of singing those sinful melodies of yours for all the world to hear.”
Beatrice clung to her lover then, unwilling to let him go another moment without hearing her pant his name. His messy, black curls tickled her nose as she murmured in his ear, “Anthony…Anthony, I want them all to know that you have claimed me. I…I thought before that we were only attracted to each other for the wrong reasons, but now–”
A particularly sharp thrust. “Now, I could not live without you,” Beatrice finished, winding her legs around his hips to bring him even closer.
Anthony grunted, his right hand reaching over to play with Beatrice’s left ring finger. “Soon, we will not spend a moment apart. Do you–” he cursed, and it was a word Beatrice had never heard. “Do you remember what I said to you that night in the library?”
He did not wait for an answer but simply continued, slowing the speed of his movements so that the coarse hair above his manhood could grind purposefully against Beatrice’s bundle of nerves. “I told you that the act of a man taking a woman is sacred, and I was telling the truth,” Anthony explained with labored breaths. “For you to give yourself to me and I to you is something that will bind us forever.”
Beatrice smiled up at him then, overcome with a mixture of love and lust. The sheets rasped beneath them as Anthony moved faster, plunging himself again and again into Beatrice as though he was breaking through the center of her to her heart. It all became too much, and Beatrice’s countenance slackened, her body shuddering as she came for Anthony for the second time that night.
He pressed his sweaty forehead to hers, whispering endearments that Beatrice only half heard over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. He gave her muscles something to contract around long enough for Beatrice to blink up at him lazily before he pulled out.
Her eyes flitted up to his face, and he looked like a man possessed, full of anguish and pleasure. The muscles in his arms bulged as his chest expanded rapidly, and Beatrice giggled lightly when he collapsed beside her after cleaning up his mess. Anthony’s sheets were now sticky with sweat, and they clung to Beatrice as she rolled over on her side to wrap her naked body around his. While their breathing slowed, they lay together, nerves thrumming with anticipation and joy.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Anthony could scarcely believe it – Beatrice was wrapped around him beneath his covers, naked as the day she was born. When she first showed up at his door nearly an hour ago, Anthony had not intended to take her, but after their declarations of love, it seemed right. While he held her close, Anthony relished in this relaxed feeling, murmuring, “You are so perfect for me, Beatrice. Did it…did I make you feel good?”
She tilted her head to look up at him sleepily, a sheepish grin on her face when she replied, “Yes, Anthony.” He enjoyed the simplicity with which she spoke after their energetic activities and the way she still shivered at his touch when he skated his fingers along her exposed upper arm. Anthony smiled fondly, and the two of them lay in silence again, basking in each other’s intimate company.
A while later, when Anthony had almost dozed off, Beatrice whispered, “What happens now? Am I just supposed to pretend tomorrow that this never happened?” Her voice sounded meek like she was expecting rejection, but Anthony had meant every word he said while claiming her.
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out, admiring the fan of her chestnut hair against his bare chest. And then, speaking with absolute certainty, Anthony asked, “Will you marry me, Beatrice?” He felt her turn in his arms so that she could face him, and Anthony was met with two widened, hazel eyes.
“Are you asking me this because of our deals with Mr. Laughton and Lord Ivanry, or do you truly want me for your wife?” Beatrice inquired, her tone unsure but serious. Anthony could not help but chuckle quietly, for, of course, he should have expected such a question even after he spread her out upon his bed with the utmost care.
Beatrice stared up at him, her mouth forming into a scowl, so Anthony stopped and shifted so that she was beneath him once more. He gazed down at his angel, this ethereal, rosy-cheeked woman who was as stubborn as he but full of a sweetness he had tried to master. Anthony smoothed the furrow in her brow with a kiss and answered, “I meant every word, Beatrice. Tomorrow, I want us to tell everyone we are to be married, and I would like to have the ceremony take place as soon as possible so that I may wake up every morning to the delight that you are. That is, if you will have me as your husband.”
Tears began to well in Beatrice’s eyes, but Anthony brushed them away before they could drip down her face. In the corner of his room, the clock chimed in tinkling, delicate notes, alerting the lovers that their time was up. Anthony swept his gaze over his future bride one last time, taking in her dewy skin and lax features, before swinging his legs over the side of his bed to stand.
He offered her his hand, and Beatrice took it as she always did, Anthony’s sheets slipping from her body like clouds. She stood before him like Venus, and it took every ounce of Anthony’s self-control to not worship her body again. As he helped her redress, Beatrice hummed, “I wish we could spend all night together. I do not think I would care if anyone found me in your arms now. In fact, I know at least one person who would be very glad to discover us like this. Maybe then we could expose my evil guardian without maintaining our ruse.”
Anthony laughed. “Yes, it would seem as though we were both successful in our tasks, but I believe our intentions were far better than theirs.” He was of course referring to the men they had made deals with, and Beatrice smirked when she turned to face him.
“If I had had my way,” she purred, placing her newly-gloved hands upon his naked shoulders, “you would have had your fill of me in the library when we first met.”
Feigning surprise, Anthony lifted her hands away and clasped them between his own. “But I thought you hated me, Beatrice. Are you such a lewd young lady that you would have let a rakish man you disliked have his way with you?” They teased each other a while longer until the voices downstairs grew louder, signaling the return of the group who had gone to the theater.
Before she could whisk herself to her room, Anthony stopped her, holding her hand in his as he smiled. “You never answered my question, Miss. Will you marry me?”
Beatrice’s eyes shone, and though he knew her answer, it made his heart skip a beat to hear it from her own lips, “Yes, Anthony, I will marry you.”
* * *
Beatrice’s steps were lighter than they had been in days as she scurried to her chamber to avoid detection. Once safe behind the heavy wood door, she collapsed to her knees, finally giving in to the wobbliness that had been present ever since Anthony unbuttoned her dress. Her mind raced with the memories of that evening, and Beatrice pressed her fingertips to the place between her legs, savoring the ache there that he had left. From downstairs, she heard the boisterous noise of Lord Ivanry regaling everyone with information on the play they had gone to see, and she had half a mind to rush to him to tell him everything.
She pictured ushering Lord Ivanry to another room and telling him about Anthony’s proposal, just so she could see the smugness on his face melt into what she hoped would be happiness. At least then, he might leave Penelope alone completely, if he knew that both of his wards were securely matched with wealthy suitors.
