Not Quite A Gentleman

required him to remove the rest of his clothing was an exercise in frustration, an interminable time when his usually steady hands trembled and his fingers fumbled. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this unraveled. Undone. Not in control of his passions.

The instant he stepped out of his breeches, he joined her on the bed, pressing her back against the mattress, covering her with his body. Absorbing the exquisite feel of her beneath him, he plunged his fingers into her satiny hair and kissed her deeply, his tongue seeking entrance into the heated silk of her mouth. His rapidly diminishing control slipped another notch when she wrapped her arms around his neck and met the demanding thrust of his tongue with one of her own.

Desire pumped through him and he fought to regain the command over himself that this woman stripped him of with a glance. A single touch. Slow. He had to go slow this first time. But bloody hell, it was nearly impossible, with the taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her squirming beneath him. His body tightened, and his erection, pressed against her soft belly, jerked in response. With an agonized groan, he reared up and knelt between her thighs.

She reached for him, but he shook his head, beyond words. Hooking his hands beneath her legs, he raised her knees and spread her thighs wide. The sight of her glistening sex dragged a ragged groan from his tight throat. Reaching out, he teased the plump, slick, velvety folds. Her thigh muscles tensed, but he gently stroked her, aroused her. When her hips undulated in a silent plea, he eased first one, then two fingers inside her. She was so tight. So wet and hot. And ready. And God help him, he couldn’t wait any longer.

He lowered his body onto hers, his weight on his forearms, and looked down as he slowly entered her. She stared up at him, her blue eyes brimming with wonder and a shade of trepidation. “Give me your hands,” he said, his voice rough with want.

She slipped her hands into his, and he clasped them, entwining their fingers. Then, with his gaze fixed on hers, he thrust.

Her eyes widened and her fingers tightened on his, and he fought to remain still. “Did I hurt you?”

She slowly shook her head. The silky wet heat of her body gripped him in a velvet fist, and he gritted his teeth against the pleasure, against the desperate need to thrust.

The half minute that passed felt like a century, then her eyelids drooped and her lips parted with a breathy sigh. “Your body on mine… in mine… it feels… delicious.”

She lifted her hips, embedding him deeper, and his war with his control was lost. With a groan, he withdrew nearly all the way from her body, then slowly slid deep. Again. Again. Over and over, faster and harder, feeling each breath ripped from his lungs, need clawing him with ever sharpening talons. Her eyes slid closed and she arched her back, pushing her hips up to meet each thrust. Her breathing turned choppy and her hands gripped his tighter. A cry escaped her, and he felt her climax overtake her, pulsing around him. The instant he felt her relax beneath him, he withdrew from her and buried his face in the warm curve of her neck, his erection pressed tightly between them. His release shuddered through him, dragging her name from his throat in a guttural rasp.

For several long seconds he remained perfectly still, breathing in the delicate fragrance of roses warmed with the musk of arousal. Then he lifted his head and looked down into her beautiful face. Her skin was flushed with the afterglow of pleasure, her moist lips plush and red from their passionate kissing, her eyes awash with sensual discovery. She slid her hand from his loosened grasp and laid her palm against his cheek.

A tiny smile trembled on her lips, then she whispered, “Nathan.”

A warmth, a tenderness like nothing he’d ever known, ambushed him. His gaze steady on hers, he gently kissed her scraped palm. “Victoria.”

Her smile bloomed fuller, her eyes slid closed, and she stretched beneath him. His gaze followed the graceful line of her cheek and froze on the red mark marring the pale skin beneath her jaw. An image exploded in his mind, of the knife against her throat, nicking her flesh. She could have been killed. He could have lost her. A sense of fury and loss burned through him, leaving in its wake a single awareness that blazed with undeniable clarity.

He loved her.

The realization walloped him like a blow to the temple, and he shook his head as if to clear it of the notion. But there was no budging the thought from his mind now that it had rooted itself there.

Bloody hell. Surely he wouldn’t be that stupid. To fall in love with a woman who was so utterly wrong for him. As he was for her. A woman who planned to soon choose a husband-a man who would never be him. She wanted a Society fop with a title and money and estates and a love of Town life. The sort of man who would escort her to the opera and soirees, and who could afford to shower her with jewels. That man was definitely not him.

Oh, he wasn’t poor by any means, yet neither was he wealthy, nor did he aspire to be. Three years ago he’d thought money important enough to risk everything, and the result had cost him dearly. Had nearly cost Colin and Gordon their lives. Now his riches came in the form of his peaceful, modest life in Little Longstone. Victoria’s world existed in an orbit far above and beyond his-an orbit that did not intersect his at any point. Yet, still the words echoed through his mind and heart: I love her.

Double bloody hell. He loved her. Her wit and charm. Her smile and determination. Her courage, intelligence, and kindness. The way she challenged him. The way she made him feel. She’d captivated him the instant he saw her three years ago, and he’d spent the intervening time convincing himself that she was nothing more than a spoiled hothouse flower. That the chemistry he’d felt between them had merely been a figment of his imagination. Now, with the passage of only two days, she’d knocked aside his perceptions, proving not only that there was much more to her than he’d supposed, but that the chemistry he’d imagined between them had been no mistake. If she could do that to him in a matter of days, what havoc might she wreak upon him in a matter of weeks?

Good God. This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to fall in love with a demure country chit who enjoyed the same simple things he did, the same modest lifestyle. Not a Society diamond who thrived in the glittering world he eschewed. A woman who would return to her fancy life in London and leave him behind with nothing more than memories and a broken heart.

Surely he’d simply taken temporary leave of his senses. He brightened at the thought. Yes, an aberration, that’s all this madness was. A post coital quirk that would clear up as soon as he put some distance between.

“Nathan… are you all right?”

Her soft voice yanked him from his thoughts. She was looking up at him with a concerned, confused expression.

No. “Yes. I’m fine.” I’m anything but. And it’s entirely your fault. He eased off her, then strode to the hearth to pick up the forgotten towels. At the wash basin he quickly cleansed himself, keeping his back to her. Fifteen feet now separated them. He pulled in a deep breath, relieved when he felt his self-possession seep back into his veins. Excellent. Just as he’d suspected, all he needed was to put a bit of distance between them. How could he possibly be expected to think properly while she lay naked beneath him? He couldn’t. But now he could. A distraction-that’s all she was. A beautiful, rose-scented distraction. Relief suffused him. Thank God everything was once again back in perspective.

After wringing the excess water from the towel, he turned back. His gaze met Victoria’s from across the room, and his relief and perspective vanished like a poof of smoke in a windstorm.

He loved her.

Bloody hell.

With a calm he was far from feeling, he walked back to the bed with the dampened towel. Resting one hip on the mattress, he gently bathed away the evidence of their spent passion. He forced himself to concentrate on the task and not look into her eyes, for fear she’d read his feelings, discover what his heart longed to proclaim but could not: I love you.

A fissure of annoyance at himself edged through him. Damn it, during his years in service to the Crown, he’d perfected the art of lying. Hiding his emotions behind an unreadable mask. It wouldn’t be difficult to call upon those skills again. You‘re not that man anymore, his inner voice whispered. No, he wasn’t. And he never wanted to be that man again. But for however long she remained in Cornwall, he’d have to pretend to be.

Setting aside the used towel, he drew up the sheet around her. Only after her pale naked beauty was covered did he dare look at her. And everything inside him stilled.

Her eyes were wide with distress and glistened with unshed tears. Her lower lip quivered, delivering a blow to his heart. “I’ve displeased you,” she whispered.