Delectably Undone! Part 4

Evelyn realized he would have to; he'd given up the lease on his lodgings. Leaving Steynings in such a rush, he hadn't thought about such things as a bed for the night.

Upon hearing this, Hurley grumbled even more. "Need to make up a bed in one of the spare chambers, then," he said. "Your room's still a main mess. Paint pots everywhere, and-" he fixed Evelyn with a disapproving eye "-Mrs. Hurley says you'll need to cover up them paintings before any respectable maid'll go in there! Like to have a fit, she did, when she saw them!"

His dreams and fantasies rioted on the wall. The G.o.d Apollo, with the nymph in his arms stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him, caught at that single instant just before their lips met... All longing, yearning and surrender. The G.o.d, who bore his face, braced, head flung back in ecstasy as she knelt, veiled only in tumbling red-gold curls, to enslave him...and the sweet moment of possession; Loveday-for it was she, and always had been-cradled in his arms, their bodies joined, two halves of a puzzle. And finally, she lay asleep in his arms, her face hidden against his shoulder, his body cradling hers. Forever.

She had painted his dreams. Even the last one, which he had not had the sense or courage to dream until now.

A soft, shocked gasp brought him around.

She was there. Sitting up, tousled and blinking in sleepy dismay in the shadows of his bed. Stunned golden eyes flickered from him to the paintings.

"I...I fell asleep." Her husky voice stroked his senses, left him breathless, wondering what it would be like waking up to all that sleepy softness every morning. For the rest of his life. "Why are you here?"

"Partly because David Winslow told me that Lionel is dead." Evelyn didn't know what else to say. h.e.l.l, he didn't even know what he felt. Only that it was going to tear him apart. "When were you going to tell me, Loveday?"

Something glimmered in her eyes. "I couldn't," she whispered. "It was my fault-"

Evelyn was across the room and had her in his arms before she could go on.

"Dammit! How was it your fault?" He held her against his heart, her head tucked under his chin. He knew what had happened; Winslow had told him. But Loveday needed to say it. Exorcize it before it could fester.

Her breath came raggedly. "Because I left him alone. He wanted to get outside. To the sh.o.r.e. So...I took him. Led him down there, and when he asked me if we'd brought anything to eat-"

"You left him sitting safely on the sand and went back to your lodgings for it." Evelyn pressed a kiss to her hair. "It wasn't your fault."

"I shouldn't have left him!" she cried, pulling free of his arms. "I knew how he felt about being blinded! And when I came back-" Her voice broke and the tears spilled over.

Evelyn drew her back into his arms. David had told him what she'd found. Her brother gone, his clothes left in a neat pile weighed down with his shoes, and a wavering line of footprints leading down to the water.

"You painted the seascape."

Pain twisted inside her. "Yes." Even now she didn't understand why she had taken her paints to the sh.o.r.e the following evening, after some fishermen had brought home the body. Why it had spilled onto the canvas, all the loneliness of the dreaming, empty water. Then, all she had wanted was someone to hold her and tell her it was all a bad dream. Now she wanted something just as impossible.

She pulled free of Evelyn's arms and felt a pang of hurt that he didn't attempt to hold her this time. "I'd better leave. I only meant to rest for a moment."

She picked up Lionel's shabby old cloak from the end of the bed and stood up.

"Is that what you want, Loveday?"

Dark eyes watched her and his hands were balled to fists at his sides.

"What I want has nothing to do with it," she said quietly. "It's always been about what you want."

He flinched. "Dammit, Loveday! I was a young fool!"

She nodded. "Yes. And I was younger. Sixteen, and even more foolish." She swallowed. "I thought it was forever. I know better now. Lionel explained, and when you stayed away I understood." She lifted her chin. "You'd tired of me."

Evelyn let out a breath. "No. No, I didn't. But I was wrong. Wrong to touch you. That night-" His hand raked through his hair. "Lionel was coming home as I left. And he knew when he saw me where I'd been. He came to me the next day and told me exactly what he thought of me. I stayed away because I knew he was right-that I was a selfish, aristocratic b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd seen something I wanted and taken it without a thought for who might be hurt." His mouth twisted. "So I tried not to be an even more selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.d than I'd already been. Or so I told myself."

"It wasn't only your fault," she said. "I wanted you. If I hadn't-"

"No!" His eyes blazed. "Don't you dare blame yourself! You were an innocent. It was my fault-I was older and I knew d.a.m.n well what was happening. I should have left before-" He broke off, took a shuddering breath, and asked calmly, "So, how did you hear about the murals?"

"I saw Colby."

"Ah."

"He was fuming because you'd rejected his sketches." She swallowed. "I had all Lionel's sketches. There were plenty of myself, and some of you, nudes, that he'd never let me even see.... I used those and my memory and, well, I thought if only you didn't know it was me-"

"Why?"

"I didn't want charity!" she snapped. "I wanted my work accepted on its merit."

"But surely, once I'd done that-!" His anger flared again. "Good G.o.d, Loveday! Why not tell me then? You can't have thought I'd take further advantage of your situation! Put conditions on the commission..." He was white, dark eyes blazing into her. "You did, didn't you?"

In that searing look she saw the self-loathing for what he had done, his vulnerability, and a terrible fear.

"Loveday-you were alone, desperate-" Evelyn's voice cracked. "How desperate?"

"No!" Words tumbled out as she understood his fear that she had been reduced to selling herself. "It didn't come to that, and I never thought that you would take advantage of my situation!"

His taut expression eased. "Thank G.o.d. But why not tell me the truth, then?"

"I didn't want the commission to be because I was Lionel's sister," she said. "Or even because I was me. That was never what I wanted from you!" She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. Better not to say more. She turned to leave.

"What did you want, Loveday?"

She stopped and drew a ragged breath. The very gentleness in his voice cut to the core, demanding truth.

She didn't dare turn back, but she looked over her shoulder, summoning a smile, praying her tears wouldn't fall.

"You, Evelyn. Just you. There's only ever been you."

She saw her words. .h.i.t him. For a moment he said nothing, just stared at her.

"I don't deserve that," he said. He shook his head as though awakening from a dream, and held out his hand, saying quietly, "Then come and take me."

"Are you betrothed?" That would be one sin Loveday could not reconcile with her conscience.

"No. Nor will I be." He hesitated. "We agreed we should not suit."

Loveday still hesitated, all the other reasons she should deny him clamoring in her brain. She scarcely heard them over the call in those dark blue eyes and the answering leap of her own heart as she turned back and went to him.

He frowned.

"Evelyn?" Her heart faltered.

He looked confused. "I've...I've dreamed of this."

Oh, so had she. So many times over the lost years, trying to hold the memory of how it had felt to be in his arms- They closed around her, and she remembered...their warmth, their strength. She raised her head, expecting his kiss, but gentle hands framed her cheeks and he stared down at her. She stared back, drinking in his face, etched in shadows, a blaze that threatened to consume her lit in the dark eyes. Slow, shaking fingers traced the line of her jaw, lingered over her skittering pulse, found the trembling curve of her lower lip, so that her breath shuddered unevenly at his burning touch, as it had once before.

Yet it was different. More. Now there was tenderness. Oh, he'd been gentle with her all those years ago. Careful, caring. But now it was as though he scarcely dared to touch her, and couldn't bear not to.

Every nerve alight, she stretched up to kiss him. All the unspoken longing, all the love-it no longer mattered if he knew how much she cared.

He took her kisses, returning them fiercely, all hot demand, his tongue teasing, probing at the corners of her lips so that she opened to him. He ravished her mouth in slow, deep surges that echoed the beat of desire in her body.

He released her mouth. "Loveday..." His voice shook. "If you don't want this, for G.o.d's sake tell me now."

Her breathing hitched. She didn't know what this was. Not for him. A brief affair, or a longer liaison? But she knew what it was for her, and now was not the time to ask that question.

She raised trembling fingers to graze his cheek, felt the p.r.i.c.kle sear her fingertips, and saw his eyes flare.

"I want you," she whispered, and gasped as he turned his head to nip her fingers, and dark heat erupted inside her.

"And I want you," he said. His hands were at the top b.u.t.ton of her bodice and her whole body stilled, caught in the moment as he released that first b.u.t.ton. "I want you," he repeated. His lips brushed hers, as achingly tender as his voice. More b.u.t.tons surrendered. "All of you," he murmured against her lips. His hand slipped inside the gown. "All of you. Always." And she gasped as his roving fingers found the sensitive upper curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, trailed fire in their wake.

"It can't be just for tonight, Loveday. Do you understand?" He lowered his mouth to the wildly beating pulse in her throat, and licked. Sucked gently. "I won't be able to let you go again," he whispered. "This time I'll be keeping you."

"Then take me," she murmured, echoing his invitation, pressing against him.

Evelyn's heart shook. "You'll trust me, again?" he said. "G.o.d knows, you shouldn't! I swore that I wouldn't seduce you." And still his fingers traced the satin curve of her breast, sliding beneath stays and chemise.

Her hand traveled down his body, found the b.u.t.tons on his breeches. There were other things he'd meant to say, but he couldn't form the words.

"You aren't." Her voice caressed him and one of those b.u.t.tons slipped open. "It's my turn." Two more b.u.t.tons abandoned their posts, as he fought for control, not to tumble her to the floor and take her right there...and to make sense of her words... "Your turn?"

"Umm. I'm seducing you." A small hand slid into the open placket of his breeches and closed over his shaft, which agreed wholeheartedly with her a.s.sessment of the situation. He groaned as she squeezed gently.

That small, wicked hand explored its captive, crept lower and cupped him so that another strangled groan escaped. "Loveday-" He reached down and pressed her hand against him, took her mouth hungrily. Shuddering in pleasure at her gentle touch, he ravished her lips.

Garment after garment fell to the floor unregarded as they kissed. His coat and waistcoat, her gown sliding off her shoulders and past her waist to fall at her feet, leaving her in stays and shift. Lamplight shimmered over her, gleaming in her hair, gilding her slender arms in gold and shadow as she reached for the lacings of his shirt. Two gentle tugs and it hung open. Her stays took a little longer to unlace, but at last she wriggled free, and he took them off over her head. She stood before him wearing only her chemise and a rosy blush. His throat tightened, words banking up behind the lump.

He reached for her, but her hands lifted. He stilled. Was he going too fast? Frightening her?

"Wait," she whispered, and his gut clenched. It had been only that one time six years ago, and while he might have behaved like a fool since, from what she had said, Loveday had never given herself again. If she needed time, rea.s.surance... He prepared to step back.

Still blushing, she raised her arms, crossing them over her head, and her chemise came off.

His lungs seized, every nerve igniting, every muscle hardening. He could only stare as shock slammed through him. She stood, biting her lower lip, with the chemise clutched in front of her, as though afraid she had gone too far.... If he had needed a.s.surance that she had only ever been his, this shyness was it.

His gaze never leaving her face, he slowly removed his shirt and dropped it on the floor. Her fingers clenched. Opened. And dropped the chemise.

Shadows and candlelight played on every dip and curve of breast and waist and hip, shadow sliding over the lissom form, candlelight dancing in her eyes, glinting in the curls at the base of her belly.

One small hand reached out, careful fingers tracing the lightest of paths on his chest. Exploring. His breath shortened; control quaked. He hardly dared breathe lest her fragrance snap the fragile chain holding him in check. Curiosity found one nipple. Circled so that it hardened, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to sweep her up and onto the bed, ending the sweet torment.

"You're killing me," he ground out Her slow smile told him she knew.

She leaned closer and kissed him. Warm, wet kisses, and gentle nips that spun his senses close to insanity as he fought to let her have her way with him. Her mouth found the nipple her fingers were teasing. He tensed, ready, but she kissed around it, just one brief swipe of her tongue over the aching centre. He groaned, ready to beg...and she pressed her open mouth over it, sucking lightly. He couldn't take much more of this...but he held still as she slid lower, kissing and nibbling her way down his body until she knelt before him and drew his trousers down....

No. Surely not...

He stared down at her, eyes dazed.

"Loveday-sweetheart, you don't have to-" A gentle sweep of her tongue silenced him, except for a helpless moan as his hands fisted in her hair.

His taste was hot on her tongue as she cupped him, leaning forward to take him into her mouth.

She should have felt subservient, kneeling there before him, but she did not. She felt powerful, feminine. She licked delicately, and gloried in the harsh groan, the jerk of his body. She had done that to him. And felt the answering surge of desire in her own body as his hand slid over her throat, tender, possessive.

His taste, hot and potent on her tongue, the satin-steel shape of him, the shuddering restraint of his powerful body as she pleasured him...

It was his dream. His dream made flesh, his dream awoken to exquisite, shocking life. He could barely breathe, let alone think as the lush heat of her mouth caressed him. A groan ripped from his belly as she sucked gently, and pleasure stabbed deep. The Nymph, Worshipping at the Feet of the G.o.d...

G.o.d? He was her slave. He could only stand, burning, as she took him to the quaking edge of madness. At last, with a shuddering groan, he reached down and freed himself gently.

"Enough."

He hardly knew his own voice, harsh with restraint as he drew her to her feet, yet he caught the flare of uncertainty in her eyes. "My turn," he whispered against her lips, and tasted himself. "Consider me seduced." Enslaved was more like it.

He swung her up into his arms and headed for the bed. He tumbled her onto it and followed her down, rolling with her so that she was half beneath him, one of his thighs between hers, opening her to his possession. His, all his. Soft, yielding. Wide golden eyes in her flushed face. All delicate pale curves wreathed in shadows, she reached up, brushing a caress against his jaw, sliding her fingers into his hair, drawing him down. He went, a willing captive, taking the sweetness of her mouth, groaning as she wriggled against him. Not to escape, but to get closer to him, her hands a tender fire on his body as she followed the hollow of his spine with curious fingers, slid lower to curve her hands over his b.u.t.tocks, lifting to him at the same time.

He fought to hold back. So easy to accept and take all of her now, but he wanted more. He wanted to give, not just take. He needed her to know the truth: that it could never be just for one night. Releasing her mouth, he looked down at her. Desire bucked. Her lips parted slightly, moist and pink, and trembling.

"Evelyn?"

"Soon," he promised.

He touched a gentle finger to her lips, tracing the lush curves, hot need spiking low as she gasped, her arms tightening around him. So sweetly sensitive. And she had other sensitive places. Propped on one elbow, he traced the line of jaw and throat with his fingertips, lingering over the dancing pulse, adoring the tender swell of her breast. Lower to circle a nipple, loving the swift response as it sprang to urgent life and her breath came in soft gasps.

"Evelyn, please..."

Her plea nearly undid him, but he bent and kissed it from her lips, as he cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb over the taut nipple. "Not yet, sweetheart. It's my turn." His turn to reduce her to desperate need. His turn to worship. To give. To love.

She could only cry out in pleasure as he slid hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and over her throat. As she burned and hungered in his arms. And oh, the glory of his mouth on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, all heat and demand. Fire leaped in every vein as his hand drifted lower, over her belly, where the wicked probe of his finger in her navel found an answering echo and ache in the emptiness between her thighs, so that she arched, sobbing in need.

And at last, at last he cupped her there. There where she so needed to be touched and ravished. There, where she was so hot and wet. And still he teased, tracing her quivering inner thighs, skirting her need, brushing lightly over her core so that she lifted against his hand in frantic want.

Hot kisses trailed over her belly; his tongue, all silk and sin, circled her navel, seduced in the same languid rhythm as his long fingers in the damp heat between her legs. Pressing a last kiss to her belly, he sat up, his hand still stroking in tender intimacy, and knelt between her thighs, pushing them wider.

Wanton heat poured through her as he gazed, as he traced the hot, exposed wetness at her core, his fingers sliding easily. Slowly, so slowly those two fingers eased into the tight, slippery ache. Lightning laced her, streaking down every vein, every nerve as he stroked, as he found a place inside her that wept for his touch, and pressed up. Hard. A frantic cry tore from her throat as pleasure burst into desperation and the fire burned hotter.

He slid lower and, sprawled at his mercy, she didn't have to ask what he intended. It was there in his dark, hungry gaze, in the slow pressure of his fingers in her slick, aching need. His turn. Slowly, so slowly those fingers withdrew, and her world nearly cracked apart as he replaced them with mouth and tongue. All hot, wicked seduction as her body arched wildly at the lancing pleasure, and her hips bucked. One powerful arm over her waist held her safe, captive to his mouth. Broad shoulders held her thighs spread and a hand under her b.u.t.tocks tilted her for his pleasure. And hers.

She sobbed, twisting and shimmering in his arms, her taste and fragrance bathing him. His body pounded with the need to have her, and she was ready, so ready....

He surged over her, guiding himself to her entrance, sliding just within, with a shuddering groan at the tight, wet heat that welcomed him. Shaking with need, he reimposed control. Slow. Tender. But her body danced beneath him, lifting to take more of him, his name sobbed in desperate plea...possession. Lost, he thrust into her, driving himself to the hilt in her sweetness. She cried out, fingers sinking into his arms, and, every muscle rebelling, he stilled, deep, so deep inside, her yielded body all his. Her eyes were closed, her breath coming in uneven gasps.