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“I thought you liked it when I didn’t behave like a lady.” That low, velvety voice, it made her melt.
“I more than like it,” Manuela said, coming closer again, practically swooning when Cora’s hands slid down to her rump and squeezed possessively. “Mm,” she moaned as she was peppered with kisses on her neck and jaw.
“Didn’t you say,” Cora whispered, her mouth flush against Manuela’s skin, “that you had some very important flowers to see here?”
“I did,” Manuela admitted. “But your mouth is so enticing.” Cora slid her tongue along Manuela’s languidly, while her hand reached up to circle over her nipple. “Mm, that’s going to delay things.” A grin spread against her mouth.
“I would love nothing more than to have my way with you against one of these enormous potted palms.” The duchess emphasized that point by sucking on an earlobe that pulled out an inhuman sound from Manuela. “But we only have about an hour.” Manuela groaned, pressing her forehead to Cora.
“All right, but after this you are taking me back to your pink cavern and absolutely demolishing the last dregs of my virtue.” That fizzy laugh—she was beginning to think of it as the sound of bliss. She wished she could bottle a bit of it and keep it with her for the unhappy times ahead.
“I will not rest until there is no trace of it left,” Cora vowed, then pulled her in for one last kiss. “I’d keep you in bed until the moment you leave for Scotland, but I want to see you in that dress at the opera.” Cora froze when she realized what she’d said. The wind went out of Manuela’s sails, but she would not let sorrow have this moment.
“I am more excited about the parts when you takeoffmy dress,” she said, refusing to dwell on what could not be changed. She tightened her arms around Cora, then tipped her head up. How wretched it was to know you’ve found exactly what you’ve been looking for but it can’t ever be yours.
“The opera will be our last outing.” She didn’t need to say what would happen at the end of their time together.
“I know.” Cora pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She sounded hoarse, like she was fighting tears, but when Manuela lifted her gaze to her, those violet eyes were dry.
Stoic, strong, unwavering Corazón.
The woman she loved. She couldn’t say it. It would be the end of this if she did.But she could know it. She could keep that truth in her heart, and it would be the flame she carried.
Nineteen
“Is it too bright?” Manuela asked as Cora’s carriage conveyed them to the Théâtre Lyrique. She couldn’t help smiling at the shameless fluttering of eyelashes that accompanied the question or the saucy pout trained in her direction.
“I thought you knew from having been in my rooms for most of the past two days that there is no shade of pink I find too extreme,” Cora said, knowing her failure to provide the praise Manuela was after, combined with the reference to what they’d been doing in her rooms as of late, would likely lead to a more overt—and sensual—cry for attention. Her lover did not disappoint.
“But you haven’t commented on the brooch.”
The jewelry in question was made up of gray teardrop pearls and diamonds done in the shape of flower, and it was clasped to Manuela’s dress right where her breasts met. Cora had seen it at Cartier, bought it on a whim and given it to her that morning. She could still feel the lingering ache between her legs from the heiress’s very effusive gratitude.
“I’ve seen it. I bought it,” Cora countered and received a very cheeky clicking of the tongue in response. “Andyouare fishing for compliments.” She had to bite back a laugh at Manuela’s huff of frustration, which preceded a subtle, but firm, shift in position that placed her bountiful bosom decidedly in Cora’s range of vision. “I most certainly am fishing for them, and so far, mi duquesa, you are not showering me with the appreciation this décolletage commands,” she shot back, that mischievous glint blazing in her brown eyes.
Cora obliged by running the tip of her nail very gently along in the space between the dress’s neckline and that luscious cleavage. “Given the lengths I went to this morning to impress upon you how fond I am of this part of your body, I thought it would be superfluous to say it.” A sharp intake of breath told her she was finally delivering the kind of adoration that was expected of her.
She’d made love to Manuela’s breasts for hours, worrying them between her thumbs, swirling her tongue around the nipples, sucking the underside, burying her face between them until Manuela had climaxed just from the stimulation.
“You did make a fine argument,” Manuela admitted a little breathlessly, as Cora circled a nipple with the pad of her thumb.
“But,” Cora began, before bending to suck a bit of skin right on one of those delectable mounds, “I admit I could’ve been more effusive in my accolades,” she said very seriously, before pulling out a breast from the bodice and sliding her tongue over it as she looked at Manuela. Manuela’s answer was a tantalizing little moan, which she followed by turning herself until she was straddling Cora on the seat of the carriage.
“Just doing my part to facilitate any more praise you had in mind.”
That sweet ache that was a constant since Manuela had come into her life sent a wave of heat coursing through Cora. Her shameless, greedy heiress, who was never content with just one kiss. Who always demanded absolutely everything from Cora.
Despite herself, she once again wished they had more time. That there was a way to keep this joy in her arms a little longer. That both their lives weren’t already on courses that would require much destruction to alter. It was best not to think of that now. That reckoning would come later, but they still had tonight.
“Will your stepson be at the opera?” Manuela asked, too casually for there not to be some hidden question underneath.
“He wasn’t invited,” Cora told her, leaning down to press her lips to warm, buttery skin. “If he was allowed to come, then Tia Osiris would ask to come. And that would’ve led to Cassandra also inviting herself.” Cora shook her head, turning her eyes up to Manuela, who was looking at her expectantly. “I wanted you to myself tonight.”
They had avoided discussing what would happen after this last outing. Manuela was set to depart for Edinburgh in the morning, and after that their arrangement would be done. The deed would come to Cora soon after and she’d finally have what she needed to step into her rightful role as chairwoman of the South American Railway. Blanchet knew it was coming and had been pressuring her to produce the contract she’d signed with Manuela, but that would not do. Not when they’d see what she’d agreed to. She’d stalled, reminded him in front of the rest of the consortium he’d met the heiress himself. She’d shamelessly lied and bought herself more time. Now she was merely days away from what she’d been working toward for years. Instead of the satisfaction she’d imagined, all she wanted was to push it off.
She’d told herself tonight would be the end, that she’d bring Manuela to the opera and let her go. The mere thought suffocated her, and yet she would do it. She had to. Manuela was already a liability. She had to be strong: for herself, for Alfie, and even for Manuela, because ending her engagement would destroy her. That, paired with her family’s past financial troubles, would be more than the respectable families in Venezuela could overlook. She’d become an outcast, and the heft of Manuela’s demise was more than Cora’s conscience could carry. Her arms, instead of loosening, tightened around her lover. As if her soul were protesting the demands her common sense was making of her.
Thankfully a jolt of the carriage coming to a stop relieved Cora from her spiraling thoughts.
