“Go to sleep.”
The whisper floated down to her. Turning her head, she looked up, met his eyes. Then she lifted her head, and touched her lips to his. He met them, returned her kiss, but gently. Briefly. Softly sighing, she drew back. Settling more definitely on his chest, spreading her hand over his side, she relaxed, and closed her eyes.
He merged with her dreams in the darkness before dawn. For long moments as he caressed her, sending sensation after sensation spiraling through her, each exquisite touch driving her higher into the clouds, she wasn’t certain where her dreams ended and reality began.
Then he moved over her, spread her thighs wide, and slowly filled her.
She woke as he thrust deep and embedded himself within her, to the sensation of him hard and strong and rigid within her, of her body clamping tightly, joyously, about him, her arms reaching out to embrace him—and knew her life would never return to what it had been.
That was her first and last lucid thought; the instant he started to move within her, her wits deserted her, submerged beneath her clamorous senses, greedy for him, for what was to come.
He stayed close this time, his body moving over hers, murmuring gruff encouragement as she shifted beneath him, tilting her hips, adjusting to the rhythm and the depth of his penetration.
Her body seemed to know what to do; she let herself flow with the tide, gave herself up to the powerful surging rhythm, let it sweep her away into a whirlpool of shattering sensation. He kept them there, held them there, each rocking thrust swirling the vortex higher, tighter. Their lips found each other’s without conscious direction, and then they were there again, in the heart of the flames, the center of the furnace.
The heat cindered all barriers, locked them together, desire flowing molten through them, between them. For one glorious instant, she lost touch with the world, couldn’t tell where she ended and he began, knew only that they were together, one in thought, in mind, in deed.
Their lips clung, their hands grasped, slipped, gripped; their bodies strove to reach the elusive peak, just beyond their reach.
Then they broke through the clouds and the sunburst took them. The glory fractured, shattered, and poured through them. Rained down on them. Drove them at the last, gasping and shuddering, onto some far-distant shore.
They lay tangled, entwined, struggling for breath, the last shards of ecstasy still shivering through them. Heated, swollen, their lips touched, brushed, then parted. In the instant before she surrendered to beckoning oblivion, one simple truth floated through her mind.
Each time he came to her, each time they joined, left her one step further from the woman she had been.
Tony woke as dawn began to streak the sky. Satiation lay heavy upon him; he didn’t want to move.
Eyes closed, he lay still, savoring the sensation of Alicia’s soft curves pressed to his side; he consciously considered leaping a few steps and simply staying where he was.
Reluctantly, he accepted that might be going too far, too fast. Although where they were headed was perfectly clear, taking women for granted was never wise.
Stifling a sigh, he disengaged, trying not to disturb her. She murmured sleepily and clutched at his chest, but then slid back into slumber. Gently lifting her hand from him, he slid out of the bed. She snuggled down in the warm depression where he’d lain. The sight of her burrowed there made him smile.
Quickly, he dressed, dropped a light, fleeting kiss on her forehead, then slipped out of her room, and out of the house.
“Are you all right, Miss Alicia?”
Alicia woke with a start, realized it was Fitchett who had spoken. “Ah…yes.” A lie, but she could hardly explain. “I, ah, overslept.”
Struggling to sit up, her gaze fell on the rumpled disaster of her bed. Thank heavens Fitchett was outside the door.
“Aye, well, we was wondering, seeing as you hadn’t rung. I’ll bring up your water if you’re ready for it.”
Alicia glanced at the window. A shaft of bright sunlight lanced into the room. Dear God, what was the time? “Yes, thank you. I’m getting up now.”
Fitchett lumbered off. Dragooning her wits and her still too-lax muscles into action, Alicia flung back the covers and got out of bed.
By the time Fitchett arrived with her water, she’d stripped the bed; there’d been no possibility of putting things right enough to pass muster. When Fitchett stared at the pile of bedclothes, she airily waved. “I decided to change the sheets. It’s only a day or so early.”
To her relief, Fitchett merely humphed.
She washed and dressed quickly, then hurried downstairs to discover bedlam reigning at the breakfast table. Adriana had done her best, but she lacked Alicia’s authority; called to order, the boys assumed their most angelic expressions and innocently resumed a more civilized rapport.
“I slept in,” she replied to Adriana’s questioning look. It wasn’t a good excuse—she never slept in—but it was all she could think of. Reaching for the teapot, she poured herself a cup. She sipped, relaxed, then realized how hungry she was. Ravenous, in fact.
Jenkins came in, and they discussed the boys’ lessons for the coming week while she polished off a mound of kedgeree.
When Jenkins departed, the boys in tow, Adriana frowned at her. “Well, you’re obviously not ailing— there’s nothing wrong with your appetite.”
She waved the piece of toast she’d started nibbling and reached for her cup. “I just slept longer than usual.”
Adriana pushed back her chair and rose. “You must have been dreaming.”
Recollection flashed across Alicia’s mind; she nearly choked on her tea.
“Are we still going to Mr. Pennecuik’s warehouse today?”
She nodded. “Yes—we must if we’re to make those new gowns.” Setting down her cup, she picked up her toast. “In twenty minutes—I have to check with Cook before we go.”
The rest of the day passed in the usual busy fashion; she hadn’t before noticed how little personal time she had, private time alone in which to think. If she and Adriana weren’t out, attending some function or event, then some member of the household would want to speak with her, or her brothers needed supervising, or…
She needed to think—she knew she did, knew she ought to stop and consider, and get her mind in order for when next she met Tony. She’d taken a major step, turned a hugely significant corner—one she definitely shouldn’t have turned, perhaps, but she’d willingly taken that road; it was clearly imperative she stop and take stock.
All that seemed obvious, yet when she finally found herself alone in her room, bathing, then dressing for the evening, she discovered her mind had a will of its own.
When it came to all that had passed in the night, and in the small hours of the morning, while she could recall and relive every moment, every detail, her mind flatly refused to go any further. It was as if some dominant part of her brain had decided those events were in some way sacrosant, that they stood as they were and needed no further examination. No dissection, no analysis, no clarification. They simply were.
It was, indeed, as if she’d stood at a crossroads, and now she’d gone around the corner, she couldn’t see where she’d been. Which left her facing forward along a road she’d never imagined traveling.
Putting the last touches to her coiffure, she paused and studied herself in the mirror. She still looked the same, yet…was it something in her eyes, or maybe in her posture, the way she stood, that assured her, at least, that she was no longer the same woman?
She had changed, and she didn’t regret it. There was little in this world for which she’d trade so much as a minute of the time she’d spent in Tony’s arms.
Indeed, there was no point looking back. She was his mistress now.
And if she didn’t know what that new status would bring, or how to cope, she’d just have to learn.
She looked into her eyes for a moment longer, then let her gaze run down the sleek lines of the deep purple silk gown Adriana had designed and she and Fitchett had created. The heart-shaped neckline showcased her breasts without being obvious; the cut below the high waist made the most of her slim hips and long legs, while the small off-the-shoulder sleeves left the graceful curves of her shoulders quite bare.
Turning, she picked up her shawl and reticule, then headed for the door. Luckily, she learned quickly.
