She trembled uncontrollably and heard little taps on the door.
Jasper, hitting something against it.
And then Rand’s heavy sigh. “Maybe we should—”
“Ignore them!” she cried, twisting under him, writhing until she managed to get faceup, until she half sat and grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him down upon her. “Ignore them and kiss me!”
He did, parting her lips, tasting of sin and seduction. She’d asked for kisses, and he kissed her. For what seemed an hour, he only kissed her. He kissed her and kissed her, hot kisses that spoke of possession.
She could touch him now, and she did…until his breath sounded as harsh as her own, until their hearts pounded in tandem, until she thought she might scream…until he rolled to his side, taking her with him, and slipped a hand between her legs.
He cupped her and then stilled.
Feeling an incredible urgency, an indescribable ache, she arched up against his fingers, waiting, waiting, waiting…
And he finally moved his hand.
Slowly. Too slowly. Over and over. And over and over, stroking her with exquisite tenderness, until she heard little cries and realized they were hers, until she wondered if one could die from this overwhelming need…
And then he slipped a finger inside her.
“Rand,” she breathed. It was too much. Too, too much. The world spun crazily. He drew out, a dazzling glide of sensation, then plunged in again, making her hips lift off the bed. Again. Again and again until she thought her heart might burst from the pleasure.
And then it did. It burst into countless little pieces, and they hadn’t even come back together yet when she felt him move up and slide into her as he covered her cry with his mouth.
He felt so perfect, joined with her, filling her, that tears came to her eyes. When he moved, they moved together. A dance of love, slow and measured and then fast and frenzied, until she burst again, this time taking him with her.
The candle guttered across the room, and the chamber went from dimness to darkness. Lily heard scratching and pecking and tapping, but she was blissfully limp on the bed. “Ignore them,” she whispered, the words barely passing her lips.
Feeling his way in the blackness, Rand pressed a kiss to her slack mouth. “You sound tired.” She heard a smile in his voice, a smile of pure masculine pride. “Do you still want to do it twice?”
“Oh, yes,” she said on a sigh.
“I’m glad to hear it, sweet Lily.”
Twice, she thought, would never be enough. But she needed some time to recover first.
As his tongue traced her lips, she decided five minutes would do.
THIRTY-FIVE
“YOU LOOK VERY nice, Rand,” Lily said the next morning.
Rand blinked. Standing outside the inn while they waited for the rest of her family, he’d been lost in thought, rehearsing in his head the upcoming interview with his father. Now he focused on her, noticing that her pale green dress was quite lovely. The underskirt was white, the stomacher and sleeves sprinkled with little white rosettes.
Very demure and aristocratic. His father would approve.
“Thank you,” he said with a smile. “You look very nice, too.”
She moved closer, sweeping him with an appreciative glance. “You look even better than at the baptism.”
A special occasion, that baptism, and he’d dressed the part. His smile widened at the memory. But the smile turned wry as he suddenly realized he’d dressed for his father today, even going so far as to have hied himself off to a barber early this morning to have his hair properly trimmed.
Ruefully he ran two fingers along his freshly shaved jaw. After all these years, he was still trying to impress the old goat.
The thought stuck in his craw, and he briefly contemplated returning home to strip off his dove gray velvet suit in favor of one of the wool ones he usually wore. But they were running late already.
As was typical with the Ashcrofts, he heard them before he saw them. Along with the family came a valet and two maids and an incredible amount of luggage considering they’d left home for just one night. The trappings of nobility could be cumbersome, to say the least. It took a good bit of time to get everyone and everything settled, during which Rand was reminded why he’d never wanted to be a marquess.
The ride to Trentingham was a loud one with similar rigmarole at the other end. Rand breathed a sigh of relief when he and Lily finally set out for Hawkridge alone.
“How far is it?” she asked, leaning against him in the carriage.
“Not very. A couple of hours downriver.”
She glanced up at him, looking surprised. “I wonder, then, why I never met you before Violet’s wedding. I thought I’d been to every house within a day’s driving distance with my mother and her gifts of perfume.”
“There were no women at Hawkridge,” he reminded her. “My mother died before you were born. And there were all those years you were at Tremayne, remember? Far away near Wales. Then, soon after you returned, I left for Oxford.”
“But surely your father entertains.”
“Not since the death of my mother. Even Christmas at Hawkridge is a rather dreary affair, with more attention paid to servants and tenants than any real celebrating.”
“It sounds dismal,” she said, rubbing the scars on her hand, her eyes apprehensive. “However did you make friends?”
“It wasn’t easy.” He’d met few young people during his years at home. “If Kit hadn’t lived so nearby, I likely wouldn’t have had any friends at all.”
Lily’s apprehension faded, replaced by a look Rand could describe only as resolute. “Well, if we end up living at Hawkridge, things will change.”
Rand very much doubted that, but he did allow that Lily had a better chance of influencing his father than he did. He suddenly realized what a good catch she was for a man such as himself: an academic who, until recently, had borne a
