A gift.
“Hold me,” Nick coaxed, startling a squeak out of her as he hoisted her raised leg even higher, up around his hip. “Hold tight.”
His strength was such that he could easily take her weight with his arms, and he hiked her up, so through the layers of their clothing, her sex was pressed against the surprising length of his arousal.
“Nicholas.” Leah gasped as her body reacted to the pleasure—and frustration—of his proximity.
“Hang on to me.” Nick took a few steps and settled her back against the wainscoted wall, leaving him free to hold her in place with one arm while his other hand brushed down over her breast, shaping its fullness with the exact, perfectly right degree of pressure to her nipple.
“Sweetheart, slow down,” Nick rasped. “We shouldn’t…”
Leah arched against him, her thrust having enough determination to be almost angry, and Nick’s ability to speak was swamped by the pleasure of her writhing in his arms. All he could think was that she felt
He should stop, Nick knew that, just as he knew the royal succession from generations before the doomed Harold Godwinson on down to the Regent. Stopping was sensible, but Leah’s breast had found its way into Nick’s hand, and the sensation of that soft weight arching against his palms…
“Ah, God.” Nick closed his eyes and lifted his mouth from hers long enough to bury his lips at her neck, inhale the fragrance of her, and gently, gently, palm the weight of that lovely breast again.
“Nicholas…” Leah’s voice saying his name with need, and desire… He applied the least hint of pressure to her nipple again, but covered her mouth with his own and pressed his cock tightly against her.
He could come like this. He could make her come like this. The notions illuminated his awareness between one breath and the next, a delightful, intoxicating couplet of pleasure that had him going still, debating logistics— he’d pleasured more than one woman against a stout wall—and trying to recall if he’d locked the library door.
“Ah, Nicholas…” Leah sighed, and her body imperceptibly softened, yielding to him, enveloping him in feminine acceptance while Nick contemplated greater naughtiness. She signaled, with that bodily sigh, that she trusted him, trusted his ability to pleasure her and to protect her as well.
And that—that surrender—got through to his flagging common sense like his own clamoring conscience hadn’t. Like a bucket of cold, filthy water. She would let him take her like a doxy against the wall while she was a guest under his roof—under his protection, for God’s sake.
“Hush.” Nick eased his body away from her slightly, enough to let her foot find the floor again. Self-disgust made him want to wrench away, but something stronger kept him close to her. “Just hush.” He brushed his hand over her hair and hung there, braced over her by his arm against the wall. He shifted, hiked her against his chest, and carried her to the couch.
“I did not mean for that to happen,” Nick said, setting her down gently then pacing off a few feet to regard her. Hysterics were not out of the question; a scathing scold was easily possible. The outcome that made him truly uneasy was the prospect of her tears.
“Neither did I,” Leah replied, her voice even. “I am not sorry it did, while you clearly have regrets.”
Nick didn’t contradict her, and he watched while arousal and anticipation faded, leaving her features impassive. He deserved a verbal birching, and she was going to deny him that penance.
“I’m sorry.” She gained her feet with exaggerated dignity. “I should not have importuned you.”
She resisted by not looking at him—Eurydice in the underworld came to mind—but she didn’t tug her wrist free as he pulled her down beside him on the couch.
“I am sorry for what just passed between us,” Nick said. “Very truly sorry, because it makes what I have to say much more difficult.”
His lapse in self-restraint also left him feeling stupid, disgusted with himself, and bewildered, particularly when he’d never once in all his years of disporting with women lost his head like that.
“Stop dithering, Nicholas. I am not given to strong hysterics.”
Dithering. He was becoming skilled at dithering. Perhaps
“Promise me something first.” Nick laced his fingers through hers, hoping she’d slap him before she tossed his offer back in his face. “Promise me you won’t reject what I say out of hand, but take a few days to think about it first. Talk it over with Della, with your brothers, even with Ethan or Val, or my horse, but don’t just toss it aside as a foolish notion.”
She studied their joined hands, making Nick aware of calluses on his palms and fingers a gentleman wouldn’t have. “I’m listening, Nicholas.”
He loved hearing her say his name, even in that starchy, wary, put-upon tone. “Your promise first.”
“I promise.”
“I believe your father, or Wilton,” Nick corrected himself, “truly wishes you harm, Leah. When I discussed your situation with your brother Trenton, Lord Amherst, he characterized Wilton’s dealings with you as not sane.”
She gave him the barest nod of agreement, and her fingers closed more tightly around his.
“I can offer you safety as my wife, but that’s all I can offer you. You will have safety, a place in Society if you want it. My family will accept you, and my title and wealth will be yours to share.”
She swiveled her head to regard him, confusion and hurt lurking in her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“You won’t have
“What does that mean?”
“We will have a white marriage, Leah,” Nick said gently. “I do not want children, not with you. The only way to absolutely ensure I have no legitimate issue is to abstain from relations with you.”
“Relations?” She made the word sound putrid.
“Coitus,” Nick clarified. “I will be your husband, not your lover.”
“Ever?” Leah’s expression was suffused with confusion. “I truly don’t understand.”
“I did not expect you would,” Nick said on a sigh. At the present moment, his own comprehension was dodgy at best. “And I did not want to put you in this position, but it seems the best I can do.”
“But you…” She waved a hand toward the wall, a world of accusation in the gesture.
“I desire you, yes.” Nick’s middle finger traced the edge of her hairline. He hadn’t planned to touch her, though she didn’t stop him. “I’m sorry for that. A gentleman would have kept his prurient interest to himself.”
Now she swatted his hand away. “It didn’t feel
Nick sighed and wrapped her hand in both of his. “I am sorry for the way I acted just now. It was badly done of me.”
Terribly, horribly, egregiously badly done. Nick did not let his gaze stray to the decanter, but it was calling to him loudly.
“I am confused, Nicholas. You desire me, but it shames you. You want to protect me, but you do not want me to be your countess in truth.”