Eleanor backed out the door to the girls’ bedroom and pulled it gently shut. When she turned around, Shermont waited inside the door to the sitting room. She walked directly into his arms.
“I had to see you,” he whispered.
“I wanted to see you, too.” Eleanor needed to touch him and know he was alive. So very alive.
“Huxley was here?”
“Yes. He … he really loves those girls and was so gentle and considerate.”
“But he told them the truth?”
She sighed. “Yes. Everything. He left about ten minutes ago to see to the arrangements.”
“How did the girls take it?”
“Pretty much as one would expect. No matter which way you look at it, they lost a beloved brother tonight.” They’d all shed more than a few tears, not for the thief and traitor, but for the boy he’d once been and for their expected future that now would never be. “They finally fell asleep, emotionally exhausted. Huxley insisted they drink a special herbal tea for strength, but I think it had a mild sedative effect.”
Shermont tightened his embrace. “And you? How are you holding up?”
“Better now,” she said, snuggling against his chest. How could something so hard be so comfortable and so comforting?
“I should go,” he said. “I need to help Carl search for Patience. She seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
“Not yet,” she said, holding onto him as if she would never let him go.
He tipped her face up for a kiss. Pleasure ignited an explosion of passion.
Eleanor grabbed his hand and dragged him into her bedroom. They started stripping off their clothes before the door latch clicked shut. The dim moonlight coming from the window gave just enough illumination to see. She untied the ribbon belt below her breasts, unhooked the wrap front, and shrugged off her dress as easily as he shed his coat.
Next came the demi-corset she’d designed with the lacing in the front. She could manage it herself, but when she pulled on the bow it tangled. The more she tried to loosen it, the more it knotted. “Damn it.”
“Wait.” He reached behind the nape of his neck and pulled out a long thin knife from the sheath strapped to his back.
She took a step back. “No wonder you weren’t afraid of Teddy.”
He shook his head. “Only an idiot isn’t afraid of a pistol pointed at his head. A knife isn’t faster than a bullet, but it does come in handy sometimes, especially up close.”
“I assume you know how to use that thing.”
“Yes,” he answered simply. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life,” she answered without hesitation.
When he stepped forward, she stood still, arms locked to her sides. He inserted the tip of the knife under the bottom edge of the corset and slit the laces straight up the middle. She felt only a slight pressure almost like a shiver, and her corset fell away. Her chemise dropped off her shoulders and gaped over her breasts because he had cut the ribbon that gathered the neckline. She grabbed at the thin material and held it in place.
He flipped the stiletto over his shoulder, and it stuck in the door with a soft thud. Without breaking eye contact, he kicked off his shoes, removed his vest and tie, and unbuttoned his high stiff collar.
Even though she enjoyed the show, the banked fire deep in her belly blazed to life, hotter than the July sun on Santa Monica Beach. “Too slow.” She reached for him. Her chemise fell to her elbows. He ripped off his shirt. “Better,” she said with a smile.
She dropped her arms and her chemise slid to the floor, leaving her clad only in her white silk stockings with red ribbon garters and her delicate dancing shoes.
He undid the buttons of his trousers, and the flap fell open. His penis sprang forward, but try as he might the tight trousers resisted his efforts to pull them past his thighs. “Bloody newfangled styles.”
“Forget them.”
He swept her off her feet and carried her to the bed, kissing her as he laid her down, rolling her to lie on top of him as he joined her. She bent her knees so she could straddle his hips, found the exact position, and took him within her. The pleasure of his fullness caused her to push herself upward with her arms and downward with her hips, taking more of him inside, stretching and sliding, quivering and pulsating.
He jerked his hips upwards, filling her, seating himself deep within her. Again and again.
She arched her spine and threw her head back. He tweaked the tip of her breast, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He slid his other hand between their bodies so the tip of his finger rubbed against her clitoris with each movement. Her orgasm came quickly, stunningly. She felt as if she would explode into a million pieces. She flopped forward, needing to hold him, to have a tether to earth, while she flew into space, detonating into blazing fireworks.
When he felt her internal pulsing, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled her under him, driving hard and fast toward his satisfaction, staying with her, becoming one. He bit his lip to keep from crying her name to the world.
Spent and breathless, he rolled to his back, cradling her to his side. She felt so right within the circle of his arm. He wanted to sleep thus, wake up thus.
As soon as his pounding heartbeat slowed to near normal, he said, “Several years ago, I read an ancient Oriental love poem, but I didn’t understand its meaning. In it, two clay figurines represent lovers. One magical night the moonlight shines upon them, and they come to life. During the act of making love, they fall from the shelf into the darkness and out of the magical moonlight. They shatter into tiny shards. The next morning the sculptor scoops up the pieces, adds water, kneads the mixture, and forms it into two figures identical to the originals. But in the one are bits of the other and vice versa. Forever altered, each will always have some essence of the other molded into their existence. Now I understand. And believe it to be true.”
He tipped her face up to kiss her. “Are those tears?”
“No. Yes.” She blinked and sniffled. “That was beautiful.”
“The poet said it better. I’ll find a copy for you.”
She laid her hands on his chest and propped her chin on them. “I’d rather remember it in your words.”
He caressed the side of her face, tracing the line of her jaw. “I should go.”
She pressed his hand to her cheek. “Not yet.” She wiggled closer and propped her knee on his hip.
He chuckled. “Keep that up and I won’t be able to leave.”
“If I could, I’d stay like this forever.”
“Like this?” He pulled her upward until they were a breath apart. “Or like this?” He kissed her, long and gentle, tasting her lips and the inside of her mouth.
She pulled on his shoulder until he rolled on top of her, fitting his hips between her thighs. Starting at her forehead he kissed every inch of skin, moving lower and lower, spending extra time on each breast until she squirmed with need.
He relished her little kitten mewls of pleasure and moved lower, across her belly to the sensitive spot in the vee of her legs. He bent her knees and spread them wide, licking the nub with his tongue, tasting her essence, delighting in the uncontrolled bucking of her hips. He pulled her knees over his shoulders and then slid two fingers inside her, in and out, faster and faster. When he felt her orgasm begin, he quickly levered himself upwards, lifting her hips and plunging into her. He knelt upright on the bed, her heels on his shoulders. Felt deeper than ever, the rhythmic vibration of her pleasure milked him of every drop of semen.
Her body went limp. He rolled her onto her side and spooned protectively around her. Although he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep holding her, he knew if he didn’t move soon that’s exactly what he would do. And he had other obligations to fulfill before the night was through. He kissed the back of her neck and the delicate spot below her ear. “Eleanor?” he whispered.
“Don’t go, James,” she mumbled sleepily. “Not yet.”
“I hate the thought of leaving you, but I promise I’ll come back. Will you wait for me?”
She turned over to face him. She’d told him the other evening she was leaving after the ball, but now she wasn’t so sure. Teddy had still died. The girls didn’t meet the pivotal brothers. She didn’t even know if the ghosts would take her back since she’d messed everything up. Surely they wouldn’t fault her for events beyond her control. Would it be so terrible to stay with him? Could she deal with the often grim realities of Regency life if he was by her
