“Such a polite young miss,” he said, jaw clenched. “All right, then.”
His biceps flexed, his fist gliding faster and faster along that thick truncheon of flesh. She wouldn’t have dared to stroke him with such ferocity and felt breathless as she watched him, nearing his finish like a stallion at the Derby. His skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, the shifting musculature beneath a sight to behold.
“You wanted it, Livy,” he gritted out. “Here is my seed.”
He aimed his cock at her breasts, and she gasped as the hot, milky streams lashed her skin. Groaning, he shot his seed copiously, covering her with his essence, the earthy scent curling her toes against the mattress. A droplet trickled down the slope of her breast, and she caught it with her fingertip. She swirled it over her nipple, shivering at the slippery, erotic feel. At the primal rightness of being marked by him.
“Bloody hell.” His chest heaving, Ben took her face between his palms, dropping his forehead against hers. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She smiled tremulously. “I think it might be similar to what you do to me.”
“I am never letting you go,” he said fiercely.
“That is just as well. Because I am never letting you go either.”
They arrived at Charlie’s before dawn.
“We’re at Lady Fayne’s, love,” Ben murmured.
Cuddled up against him, Livy did not want to leave. Their night together had been magical. After making love, they’d both been famished. Ben had carted in the remaining supper, and they’d eaten naked in bed. They’d fed each other, Ben smiling at her voracious appetite. When sauce had dribbled down her chin, he’d licked it off.
Afterward, he’d lain atop her, courting her with slow, stirring kisses. Pinned by his sinewy weight, his hardness rocking against her mound, she’d found ecstasy twice, and the second time, he’d joined her with a ragged sigh, his pleasure a warm flood over her belly.
Having shared such precious intimacy with him, she feared the separation ahead.
“I don’t want to leave you.” She looked imploringly at her beloved. “There must be some way I can help—”
“We have been through this.” He cupped her jaw, his touch gentle yet firm. “I cannot concentrate on this dark business unless I know you are safe. I need to know that you will not be running around London, in disguise or otherwise. You will help me by doing as you are told.”
The unyielding set of his features told her that further argument was futile. She swallowed, unable to bear the idea that she might prove to be a harmful distraction.
“You may depend upon me,” she whispered.
He studied her, then nodded. “My plan may take weeks to come to fruition. During that time, we will not be able to meet. I do not want those scoundrels to know what you mean to me, for it could put you and my mission at risk.”
“I won’t see you at all?” she asked in dismay. “I’ll come to you at night. I’ll be careful—"
“No.” His tone had never held more authority. “If our relationship is discovered, the bastards could use you against me. You must stay away. Give me your word, Livy.”
Reluctantly, she did so.
“There is another thing.” He exhaled. “During this time, you may hear gossip about me. Rumors about my conduct. I give you my word that I will be true to you, and I ask for your trust.”
“I trust you,” she said.
“There’s my brave little queen.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her with a tenderness that made her heart soar. “When this is over, we will move forward with our future together. You will wait for me?”
“I would wait forever,” she vowed. “I love you, Ben. Be careful and come back to me swiftly.”
26
1843, Country Estate of Beatrice and Wickham Murray
Livy is 13; Ben is 25
“I have changed my mind.” Standing on a large rock looking down into the stream, Livy shook her little head, her plaits whirling. “I am not going in.”
“But it is hot out, and the water is refreshing.” It was getting damned cold, actually. Ben had been standing in the chest-deep water for ten minutes, trying to coax the girl in. “And you are wearing your swimming outfit.”
“I don’t care,” Livy said stubbornly. “I will go change.”
“Hadleigh, why don’t you just leave the chit be?”
He turned his head in the direction of Arabella’s sulky tones. His wife was standing by the side of the stream, several yards away from the rock. She was wearing an immaculate white gown that was better suited to a drawing room than a riverside picnic. Even from a distance, he could see the twin lines of annoyance between her brows. Arabella had not wanted to come to his sister’s house party, which she considered too “rusticated.”
Even though he thought it was rather obvious—at least to anyone who cared a whit about him—he had explained to her how important it was for him to make amends to Beatrice. His sister was the only kin he had left, and after what he had done, an invitation from her was nothing short of a miracle. He had thought that Arabella, too, might want to mend fences with Bea, who’d once been her bosom chum. Yet Arabella had remained dead set against attending, and in the end, he’d had to set his foot down.
His duchess had been pouting since they arrived three days ago. She’d been cold and rude to the other guests, which didn’t help his goal of becoming something other than persona non grata in his sister’s life. Frustration built in him, a gnawing ache in his chest that never seemed to go away. He had a sudden urge for the opium that he knew Arabella had brought with her, even though he’d instructed her not to. He and his wife had developed too many bad habits, and he wanted to steer their marriage onto a healthier path.
Telling Livy that he would be right
