fractured, pulsing as he drove relentlessly into her, deep into the heart of her fire.
Closed his arms around her, holding her immobile as his body reacted to the rippling contractions of hers, as he plunged deeper yet, filling her, following her, over the peak of sensual glory, over the edge of worldly delight and into earthly bliss.
Into a deep void of unutterable satisfaction. The deepest satiation he’d ever known. Her celebration had created a new dimension, taken them to a different plane.
How many minutes passed before he could summon the strength and the wit to lift from her, wrestle the covers from beneath them and, curling her body against his, slump, all but exhausted, into the bed, he had no idea.
He lay there and let the moment wash over him. Let the peace, the knowledge, the absolute certainty sink into him.
They both fell asleep.
When he woke, he found he’d turned on his side, one arm slung over her hip, his body curved spoon-fashion about hers.
She, too, was awake. He knew it from the tension in her body; she was lying on her side facing away from him-he couldn’t see her face.
Coming up on his elbow, he leaned over her.
She turned her head, looked at him, and smiled.
Even in the moonlight, the gesture was glorious.
Raising one hand, Portia touched his cheek, then, still smiling, settled back on her side, feeling him hard, strong, and hot behind her.
He lay passive, yet…
Her smile deepened. Reaching back, she wrapped her fingers around his length. Caressed as she remembered. “You called me a cocktease-did you mean it?”
He grunted. “I wasn’t even sure you’d know what it meant.”
She grinned as, slowly, she ran her thumb over the blunt head of his erection. “Admittedly it’s not something one comes across much in Ovid, but I do know my modern derivations.”
“Derivations?”
The reply was meaningless; he wasn’t thinking about words.
She closed her hand more firmly. “You haven’t answered my question.”
He sucked in a breath; there was a pause before he said, “Not in general, but in specific.”
She thought about that for a moment, fondled not quite absentmindedly as she did. “You mean I tease you?”
It was her turn to catch her breath as he nudged her upper thigh higher, and his artful fingers slid into the softness between her legs.
His fingers played. “You tease my cock simply by existing.”
Her smile threatened to split her face. “How?”
The word was breathless; she angled her hips farther, felt him shift behind her.
“I see you, and all I can think about is sinking it into you.” He fitted the object under discussion to her. “Like this.”
Her eyes fell closed as he slowly, oh-so-slowly slid home. Withdrew, then gave her time to savor every inch of his return.
Her lungs locked; her whole body came alive. Determined, she managed enough breath to say, “I think I rather like being a cocktease-at least in the specific.”
He leaned over her, around her, set his lips to the curve of her ear, pushed his hand beneath her arm, and closed it about her breast-and gave her to understand that, far from disapproving, he liked it, too.
Later, much later, they lay slumped in the bed; he’d settled her, sprawled comfortably over him, her head pillowed on his chest. Idly, Simon played with her hair, sifting the long strands.
Eventually, drew a deep breath.
“I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
Her reply was only a moment in coming. “Yes.” Raising her head, she smiled at him, then crossed her arms, rested her chin on her wrists, and studied his face.
Her eyes were dark and brilliant; he looked into them, waited.
Her smile, that of a woman smugly well satisfied, eased. “I love you, too.” A frown invaded her expression. “I still don’t understand it.”
He hesitated, then offered, “I don’t think love is something one necessarily understands.” God knew he didn’t.
She frowned openly. “Perhaps. But I still can’t stop thinking…”
He stroked his hands lovingly down the long planes of her back. “Has anyone ever told you you think too much?”
“Yes. You.”
“So stop thinking.” He reached farther, suggestively caressed.
She met his eyes, arched a brow. “Make me.”
He held her gaze, confirmed the words were the invitation he’d thought, then smiled-wolfishly. “My pleasure.”
He rolled, taking her with him, trapped her beneath him, and obliged.
Her next coherent thought did not surface until well past dawn.
She might not have been thinking, but he certainly had been. He’d been plotting, planning, but just what she didn’t know.
By the time she reached the breakfast table, he’d convinced Lady O that it was imperative he drive her, Portia, somewhere. She arrived too late to hear where.
“You’ll know when we get there,” was all he would say. Jaw setting in a way she knew well, he gave his attention to a plateful of ham.
She turned to Lady O.
Who waved aside her question before she could ask it.
“Take my word for it-best you let him drive you up to town. You won’t like rocking along slowly with me in the coach-not if you’ve a better option.” She grinned; the old evil light was back in her eyes. “If I were you, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
Which left Portia little option but to go along for the ride.
Helping herself to tea and toast, she looked around the table. The transformation was marked; a lighter atmosphere had taken hold once again. There were still lingering shadows in most people’s eyes, but the relief was immense, and showed in their smiles.
Lady Calvin, of course, had not come down, but neither had the other older ladies, except for Lady O and Lady Hammond.
“She’s taking it hard, poor thing,” Lady Hammond confided. “It was always her dream to see Ambrose in Parliament, and now… to have to face this, and with all it’s revealed of Drusilla as well, she’s quite overset. Catherine’s asked her to stay on for a day or so, at least until she’s well enough to travel.”
Drusilla, unsurprisingly, had not joined the company.
Later, everyone gathered in the front hall for farewells. The coaches were at the door; the Hammonds left first, then the Bucksteads.
Portia noted that, despite his earlier stance, James stood a little apart with Lucy, then walked her to the carriage and handed her up. A plan to invite Lucy to another house party sometime, and James as well, sprang into her wind, fully formed.
To which house was the only point in question.
Then Lady O completed her good-byes and, on Lord Netherfield’s arm, led the way onto the front steps. She and Simon followed in time to hear Lady O tell his lordship, “Quite a lively break, but next time, Granny, leave out the murders. They’re a bit much for my aging constitution to take.”
Lord Netherfield snorted. “Yours and mine both, m’dear. But at least these youngsters acquitted themselves well.” He bent a beaming smile on Simon and Portia, and Charlie and James who’d followed them out. “Seems
