The Stranger I Married

“That sounds wicked,” she breathed, gazing up at him raptly.

“It will be. But I assure you, you will enjoy every moment.”

He, however, will probably wallow in guilt for the rest of his life, but he wanted her desperately enough to make that future torment worthwhile.

He pressed his lips very softly to hers, his hand at her waist slipping to cup what felt to be a fine derriere. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

“Yes. I have no doubts. I am seven and twenty. I have met hundreds of gentlemen over the course of my life and none of them have affected me as you have. What if no man ever will but you? I will regret forever that I did not enjoy what I could of your attentions.”

His heart clenched painfully. “Losing your virginity to a cad such as myself will make your wedding night very awkward.”

“No, it will not,” she assured him confidently. “If I do marry, it will be with a man who is smitten enough with me to skip dinner like Lord Grayson has done for Lady Grayson.”

“What Grayson feels is not ‘smitten,’ love,” he said dryly.

Abby waved a careless hand. “Whatever name you give to it, he grants no significance to anything in her past. My future spouse will feel the same about me.”

“You sound so certain.”

“I am. You see, he would have to love me desperately to win my hand, and a little matter of a torn piece of flesh would not matter to him. In fact, I intend to tell any future spouse of mine all about you, and-”

“Good God!”

“Well, not literally,” she hastened to say. Her gaze turned dreamy, her smile fond. “I would simply tell him of the man who made my stomach flutter and my heart race when he smiled. How wonderful that man was to me, what happiness he brought me after the death of my parents left my life a misery. And he will understand, Lord Trenton, because when you love someone that is what you do. You understand.”

“What a dreamer you are,” he scoffed in an attempt to hide how deeply her words touched him.

“Am I?” Frowning, she pulled away. “I suppose you are correct. My mother warned me once that affairs are practical endeavors, not the stuff of romance.”

Rhys arched a brow, then linked their fingers and pulled her toward a nearby bench. “Your mother said that?”

“She said it was foolish of women to think that affairs were grand passions and marriages a duty. She said it should be the opposite. Affairs should be nothing more than a satiation of needs. Marriages should be lifelong commitments to deep-seated desires. My mother was a forward-thinking woman. After all, she did marry an American.”

“Ah yes, that’s true.” Sitting, he pulled Abby into his lap. She weighed nearly nothing and he tucked her close, resting his chin on her head. “So she is the one responsible for filling your head with all that love nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” she chided. “My parents were mad for each other and very, very happy. The smiles on their faces when they were together again after an absence…The glow they had when they shared a smile over the dining table…Wonderful.”

Licking the exposed column of her throat, he reached her ear and whispered. “I can show you wonderful, Abby.”

“Oh my.” She shivered. “I swear my stomach just turned a flip.”

He loved how he affected her, how open and innocent she was in her responses. She was so pure of character. Not because she was naive-she saw the workings of the world clearly-but because the less admirable facets of mankind did not disillusion her. Yes, she had been hunted by disreputable gentlemen, but she saw that for what it was-the stupidity and greed of a few men. The rest of the world was given the benefit of her doubt.

It was that quality of hopefulness which he found so irresistible. He would most likely be damned to perdition for taking her, but he could do nothing else. The thought of never having her, never experiencing her joy in passion was unbearable.

“What wing of the manse are you in?” he murmured, wanting to lie with her now.

“Let me come to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are the more experienced and jaded of the two of us.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Would the woman ever cease confounding his wits?

“You have this scent about you, my lord. Your cologne and soap and starch. It is quite delicious and when your skin heats up, the smell sometimes makes me feel as if I could swoon. I can only imagine how much more pronounced the effect will be after the physical exertions of lovemaking. I doubt I would be able to sleep a wink with that scent all over my bed linens. For you, however, the odor of sex would be nothing of note. Therefore, I should smell up your sheets, rather than you smell up mine.”

“I see.” Before he knew what he was doing, he had her bent over the cool stone bench and he was kneeling over her, taking her mouth with a need he had not felt since…since…blasted! Who in hell cared when it had been. It was damn well happening now.

His hands cupped the slight curves of her breasts and squeezed, eliciting a moan from her that swelled upward and filled the area of the garden they occupied. Discovery was a very real hazard and yet he could not find the will to cease. He was drunk on her scent, her response, the way she arched upward into his embrace and then shrank back, frightened.

“My very skin aches,” she whispered, writhing.

“Hush, love,” he soothed, his lips moving against hers.

“I-I feel so hot.”

“Shhh, I will ease you.” He stroked down the length of her side trying to gentle what was quickly becoming a wild passion.

Her hands slipped between his coat and waistcoat, clawing at his back. The scratching made his cock throb and he paid her in kind by scraping the tips of his short nails across her hardened nipples. With one hand gloved and the other not, he knew the dual sensations would madden her.

“Christ almighty,” she gasped. Then she grabbed his ass and yanked their hips together.

His breath hissed between his teeth. She cried out.

“Abby. We must find a room.”

She turned her face into his throat, her lips moving feverishly across the sweat-dampened skin. “Take me here.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, certain he was only minutes away from doing just that. If anyone were to stumble upon them now, there would be no way to explain. He was crouched over her like an obvious lecher. She was the innocent, who hadn’t the wherewithal to deny a seasoned rake’s advances.

How had they ended up like this? A stolen moment or two of her company, and he was about to break his one cardinal rule: no deflowering virgins. What fun was there in that? No quick rut, this. There would be blood, tears. He would have to seduce her properly, take his time, delay his own gratification…

“My lord, please!”

Hell and damnation. It sounded like heaven.

“Abigail.” He meant to hurry her off so they could meet naked-er, properly. But he was having the hardest time removing his fingers from around her nipples. Yes, her breasts were small, but her nipples were not. He couldn’t wait to-

Her lovely gown tore as he yanked the shoulder down and bared her breast. She cried out again as he lowered his mouth and suckled her. Such long, delicious nipples. They rolled over his tongue like berries and were just as sweet.

“Please, oh please, my lord.” She arched upward into his mouth and he almost came, that silken undulation an unbearable tease to his near-to-bursting cock.

It was only the sound of approaching laughter that saved her from ruination on a garden bench.

“Bloody hell.” He moved swiftly, pulling her up and straightening her bodice. The nipple he had been sucking